Lost Child
by dbzyaoilover
Summary: Something went wrong when Kakarot was sent to Earth, after several years, when his family on planet Vegeta Not destroyed by Frieza believed him dead, a signal from his spacepod is received, from a different destination...Yaoi VegetaxKakarot
1. Chapter 1

Million thanks to my beloved beta, chibigoku4; (I don't know what I'd do with all your help 3 ). If still there are some mistakes left is my only fault; last-minute changes ;

WARNINGS: None for this chapter, except Bulma portrayed as a ruthless villain, so fans of Bulma out there, don't read if you cannot handle that.

I was going to add a prologue, relating how Bulma became the villain, but it was ridiculously long, and since the main focus of the story will be the pairing VegetaxKakarot(Goku) I just decided to explain it in a little introductory note; please read, it's needed to understand some things.

INTRODUCTION:

This story occurs in an alternate reality or in a different timeline than the canon series. Frieza still hasn't met saiyans, and so the planet continued its course, with Bejiita as his king, and our Vegeta, his son, as his heir. Vegeta is about twenty-six or twenty-seven years old. Kakarot (not Goku here since he did not arrive on Earth) is ten years younger than the prince.

On planet Earth, since Goku wasn't there, old Gohan lived enough to meet Bulma when she was searching the dragon balls. When the old but lively man, who knew the power held by the balls, refused to lend her the dragon ball, Bulma killed him (Remember that in the canon she shot Goku, trying to kill him to get his dragonball )

After tasting her first blood and the exhilarating power of being able to decide the destiny of another human being, Bulma kept on his search of the balls, dispatching all those who dared to interfere in her path. She met Yamcha, who fell under the spellbound of the blue-haired bombshell and became her lover, accomplice and minion.

With the power of the balls, the fortune and influence of her family, her scientific abilities and her sudden lust for power, soon she became the ruler of the planet, one of the worst tyrants in the history of Earth. But that wasn't enough to satiate her avarice and soon she decided to extend her dominion out of planet.

With the dragon balls she attained technology that otherwise would have taken decades, even centuries to get, like spaceships to travel through the universe and an invisible barrier around the earth to be invulnerable to any attack from alien forces. She also wished that the strength of the habitants of planet earth would be increased. The balls did not granted her though the wish to acquire more advanced weapons. But even though her powers were limited, she soon started the conquest of nearby planets.

Once the earthlings occupied one of the worlds property of the saiyans, one of the most powerful races in the universe, which possessed a vast empire, the confront was inevitable. But little did the powerful saiyans expect that all their attacks to Earth would be repelled. They had to admit defeat and came back home to lick their wounds.

And that is the point where this story begins.

(I used the name Bejiita for the father and Vegeta(our grumpy prince ) for the son, because it could be confusing using the same name, and sorry but Vegeta junior sounds absolutely awful. This first chapter is just to introduce the characters,

set the scenario and give a glimpse of what will happen, I decided to do it by a conversation between King Bejiita and his counselor, Bardock, I thought that way it was more interesting than in the form of a plain narration.)

LOST CHILD

By Tyrana

CHAPTER ONE: SHOCKING NEWS

The birthday of Bejiita, crowned king of Planet Vegeta, was approaching and the royal palace was a hive of rushed activity; each and every one of its dwellers, from the lowest of the servants to the highest noblemen, including the king himself, bustled about with ambitious, splendid preparations and arrangements to guarantee the success of the celebrations.

Everything had to be flawlessly planned, with utmost efficiency; every little detail taken care, any obstacle surmounted, any possible contingency prevented, all expectations fulfilled. In sum, it had to be perfect.

The event held great significance and importance, not only because of the ephemeredes itself, but for the repercussions that would possibly ensue: The palace soon would be brimming with multitude of diplomatic delegations, emissaries and representatives from all the worlds under the sphere of influence of the saiyan empire and it was imperative that each and all of them, no matter their status (subjugated planets, allies, associates, friends…) witnessed the splendor and glory, the superiority of the saiyan race.

It was a perfectly calculated method of propaganda, a subtle way to consolidate the power and influence of the conqueror over the subordinates and, even, to abort possible insurrections.

Furthermore, it was an excellent occasion to gestate important agreements, to forge new alliances, to strengthen old ties, to smooth out differences and slight conflicts…But it was also an opportunity for the king to give free rein to his vanity.

For it was a very well stated fact that Bejiita fancied to receive compliments and admiration over his outward appearance, style, sophistication and prosperity. It was not such an outlandish trait; as a matter of fact, it was perfectly understandable given the innate exhibitionism and boastfulness of the saiyan race. The only difference with the rest of his compatriots was the choice of channel to vent it; in lieu of spitting his bravado at the face of his enemies in the battlefield; the king had found his own, personal way to show off himself.

And so the king had taken upon himself, like it was habitual, the task to design most of the garments he would be wearing during the receptions, banquets and the rest of the celebrations. And, overcome by puerile excitation, when he finished his part he went to and fro, for interminable days, giving instructions and supervising the work of tailors, seamstress', and the rest of the servants, causing them to be at the edge of a breakdown and making their lives a complete hell with all his demands, nudging, rude criticisms, bickering and whatnot. But finally the work had been successfully done, and the brand new wardrobe was ready to be tried on.

General Bardock, royal counselor and closest friend of the king of all saiyans, awaited patiently amidst the sumptuousness of the Blue Chamber; standing erect almost like a statue, in the typical posture and demeanor of a well-trained soldier awaiting his orders, (despite his privileged position and although his days as a commoner in the army were far off; but old acquired, deeply ingrained habits were hard to eradicate).

Not even a single muscle or fiber of his body rippled, shook or trembled in the slightest; even his attractive and well-defined features, -powerful, authoritative, denoting his strength of character, earnest and steadfast resolve- were perfectly restrained in a neutral expression.

The man was the epitome of self-discipline, imperturbability and perfect composure, except for the occasional, inevitable blinking of sharp, charcoal eyes, and the sporadic raising of an eyebrow at the bizarre scene performed before him: The protagonist not other than Bejiita, almighty king of the saiyan empire, was posing in front of a colossal mirror, admiring his tall, impressive and flawlessly chiseled figure, magnificently framed and enhanced by a lavish and elegant suit of rich burgundy velvet. Meanwhile a servant, (an alien, like most of the employees occupied in 'low and degrading' -according to the criteria of the proud saiyans- jobs), with sallow complexion and unattractive features, glowing-red mane and petite, fragile body, trotted nervously behind the monarch; one moment to set properly the pleats of the jacket; the next to brush off compulsively random spots on the arms and the back; the whole time twitching and letting escape, every now and then, from thin blue lips comments like "Excellent!" - "Perfect!", and other compliments of a similar fashion.

The monarch, far from being irritated or annoyed, gave the impression to be rather pleased with the singular creature's demeanor; and Bardock, not daring to break his reverent silence until being granted permission to speak, pondered over, in renewed amazement, as many other times before, how regardless of their different personalities, Bejiita and he shared similar ideals and views.

He was basically a simple soldier, an ordinary man of sober tastes and austere habits; his disposition reserved, taciturn, almost unsociable; his character determined but rarely stubborn; his manners as restrained as his countenance, hardly ever giving free expression to his emotions; but sincere and honest when he spoke his thoughts or in the rare occasions in which he demonstrated his feelings, neither fond of subterfuges nor nasty tricks.

Bejiita, on the contrary, had been gifted with an exuberant, overwhelming personality and a more open and expressive character. But he was more devious and sibylline in his intentions and in his treatment of others. He also possessed an arrogance occasionally bordering narcissism, but that had become the trademark of the royal family. Though, surprisingly, he was rather indulgent with other people's flaws. The man was a hedonist; a sybaritic, with exquisite and refined manners, who delighted and indulged in decadent luxury and opulence. It sufficed to take a look around to have proof of it:

The whole chamber hung with tapestries of rich velvety cloth and draperies of fine silk in an ample array of different shades of blue. The sunlight, which streamed through a large window, transformed the sepulchral pallor of the smooth marbled floor into resplendent warmth. A few, selected, dainty ornamental objects perfectly harmonized with the exquisite furniture of simple lines made with noble woods, embellishing and enhancing the elegance of the ambience. And, as an ultimate touch of voluptuous refinement, a subtle herbal fragrance filled the room.

Such were the musings drifting fluently through Bardock's mind while the king continued immersed in the appreciative contemplation of his royal person on the mirror; every now and then whirling slowly, looking over his shoulder in an attempt to get, as well, a glimpse of his back view.

Suddenly, Bejiita, stroking his tidy goatee, stopped all his movements and evolutions; the pensive and serious gaze under slightly knitted eyebrows gave him the aspect of a man who seemed to be debating with himself a crucial issue. After brief instants, he nodded his head with a satisfied expression settled upon his aristocratic countenance.

"I think I will be wearing the dark-blue suit for the banquet," the monarch casually observed, casting a brief glance over the emaciated servant, who bowed his head in humble deference; but his eyes immediately flickered back to his reflection, as he added: "This one definitively is the most appropriate for the official reception, it emphasizes my regal bearing, do you not think so, Bardock?"

Had not been the phlegmatic type, the laconic general would have flinched and gaped at him in utter stupefaction. The query had caught him absolutely off guard; it was not an usual occurrence that the king asked for his opinion about such trivialities; in fact, Bejiita had every so often reprimanded him, always humorously however, for his deficient 'sense of fashion'.

Bardock merely blinked intermittently during a couple of seconds before widening his fiery eyes, seeming to be the only part of his anatomy with some capacity to respond to external stimuli.

Being well acquainted with each and one of the gestures of his rather

expressionless counselor, such imperceptible reaction was enough evidence for Bejiita to realize, amused, that he had put the man into a tight corner; the massive, roaring laughter which ensued, echoed across the room for at least full five minutes.

"Do take a seat, my old friend and serve yourself some wine," offered the monarch, still in good humor, once his outburst subsided. Then, without averting his satisfied gaze from the mirror, Bejiita, snapping his fingers twice, exclaimed curtly to the nervous valet: "The purple cape, quickly!" Once he was handed over the requested item of clothing, the king, waving languidly his hand in a dismissing gesture, ordered him to leave the room.

The small alien inclined his head before proceeding to pick up all the garments scattered over a splendid divan and clumsily made a profound obeisance of submission and respect to the king, mumbling an almost unintelligible "Your highness." After that, spinning in Bardock's direction, he repeated the same servile gesture in recognition of the high rank of the general, before swiftly retreating by a side door.

Once they were left alone, without any importuning presence, the king adjusted the purple cloak to his shoulders and admiring the effect on the mirror, proceeded to interrogate his counselor about more significant affairs.

"Now my dilected friend, I assume you are bearer of good news," uttered Bejiita with inquiring notes while posing with stately air, still enthralled in his own pleasant scrutiny.

"Certainly. The majority of the invitees will be arriving within this week. The president of Dakkara will not be able to attend, but he showed great interest on our proposal to provide us with their superior technology and he will send his Prime Minister to discuss the terms of a possible agreement," intoned Bardock in even accents.

"Excellent!" The king exclaimed with ostensible delight, then, smirking, continued, "we need to make a succulent offer, that old fox is a greedy bastard," a short chuckle escaped his lips before adding, "but it will be a worthy investment, the efficiency of our battle forces will be considerably increased."

Bejiita walked over, approaching to the table and grabbed some berries from a silver tray, savoring the bitter-sweet taste as Bardock continued the report.

"The king of Belaria and the archiduke of Talandur finally accepted our mediation in order to put an end to their conflict."

Bejiita waved his hand with mild disinterest, "Menudences, those idiots and their petty territorial disputes. Spare me the details, I trust in your good judgment to resolve the issue satisfactorily," he uttered disdainful, divesting himself from the fancy piece of cloth to toss it carefully over the divan before stepping over to ensconce himself on a lavish armchair opposite to Bardock.

"My main concern right now is that woman who rules the Earth. That…Bulma. Did she accept the invitation?" He questioned, voice slightly altered by atypical anxiety.

Bardock nodded his head in silent acquiescence, involuntarily clenching his hands into fists at the mention of that planet, (ironically the same his lost son, Kakarot, was assigned to purge when he was just a toddler; a destination he never reached though), suddenly assaulted by that familiar, deaf pain that dwelt in lethargic state within the deepest recesses of his heart, and that was awaken every time memories of his son plagued his mind. But, promptly collecting himself, he added, "She confirmed her attending in our last communication."

"Good, good…did you find her predisposed to negotiate?" Bejiita asked, while pouring a generous amount of red wine into a silver goblet.

"More than that, eager; that was my impression. But…" Bardock paused and cast his gaze down, biting on his bottom lip in hesitation, absolutely conscious that he needed to choose carefully his next words if he did not want to incur the king's anger. Bejiita was fairly reasonable, most of the times, and he held great estimation for Bardock's judiciousness, acknowledging and rewarding with largesse his sage advice and the earnest and zest the counselor invested in the fulfillment of his duties and responsibilities. Yet, he did have little to none proclivity to tolerate antagonisms, neither unfavorable opinions of any kind when he was downright adamant about a particular matter.

Upon noticing Bardock's reservation, an infrequent trait on the counselor's side, Bejiita quirked an eyebrow. The sternness and suspicious, so manifestly written, all of a sudden, on the king's face caused Bardock to fidget nervously on his seat.

"Well…spit it out, what is the problem?" Bejiita inquired, harshly.

There was a look of genuine preoccupation in Bardock's eyes when he turned his gaze up toward the king, but he continued, nonetheless, with his characteristic confidence, "May I humbly suggest you to reconsider the whole issue?" He asked, with tact.

Bejiita's factions immediately contorted into a sulky scowl, yet it did not deter his counselor from speaking his mind with frankness, "I have the presentiment that an association of any kind with that woman will entail more troubles than benefits."

Upon noticing the strange look of intermingled annoyance, curiosity and surprise the king was darting at him, Bardock ceased in his utterance, awaiting in questioning silence for any reaction on his interlocutor's side.

"Bardock, if you really want me to take you seriously you must provide valid and far more convincing arguments than mere, absurd presentiments." Though the king's words were emphasized by stern accents, Bardock felt certain relief at the fact that Bejiita was keeping at bay his irascible and choleric temper, (granted that though the king could become very violent, he also was endowed with a proverbial self-control and a great capacity to restrain himself) and appeared to be inclined to listen to the counselors reasoning.

"I don't trust her. She is too ambitious and manipulative: since the very first moment we spoke, I got the impression that she's one of those persons without scruples or ethics of any kind, who wouldn't hesitate to commit the most despicable of the acts in order to achieve her purposes…"

Amused and fascinated by his counselor's capacity to utter an incensed invective with such quiet manners and neutral tone of voice, the king interrupted him with a wry chuckle, which apparently served to conjured up part of his tenseness for he spoke in a more distended way, "Bardock, I cannot quite understand your reticence and misgivings. That same description could apply to almost each and one of our allies."

"I have not finished yet," Bardock remarked, boldly, "she is different…her lust for power seems to be insatiable; a good sum of gold will not be sufficient to keep her satisfied. During our last conversation, before giving me a positive response to our proposal, she showed a great interest on learning about the functioning of the Royal House, the succession rights to the throne, the status of the king's consort and a myriad of similar subjects. All with the excuse to know better and understand her possible associates.."

"You must admit she got a point there", the monarch commented, bringing indolently the goblet to his lips to take a long sip. Bardock raised an skeptical eyebrow in disbelief at the king's apparently impassiveness.

"Really? And what was the point of asking me if your only son remains single? And what about her sudden interest on knowing our position about inter-species marriages or if we have successfully attempted to breeding with alien races?

Of course, she mentioned it all very casually, seasoned with a mellifluous tone of voice and flirtatious manners, as if, that way, she could veil her true motivations." The blazing flames of wrath in Bardock's expressive pupils gradually derived into a glint of concern as he pronounced his next words of advice, "We must be cautious, Bejiita, she is desperate to sinking her fangs into the saiyan empire…"

"Greedy bitch…" Anger flashed for a fleeting instant in the depths of Bejiita's eyes, but he instantly shrugged it off savoring another drink of the excellent liquor.

A tense quietness descended upon the room as the king became entranced by the flow of his grave reflections. Endless moments elapsed before he broke the silence, barely concealing his state of slight agitation under the authoritative tone of his voice.

"Damnit, Bardock, you seem obstinate in ignoring the importance of this whole affair. It is essential for us to know her damn secret.", he exclaimed vehemently, pulling the upper half of his body slightly forward, knocking on the table with his balled fist with such vigor that the goblets and decanter began to tremble, some drops of wine bleeding over the fine piece of satin that covered the board.

Then, he drew a deep breath before voicing out loud his thoughts. "The ancient records describe Earth as a considerably vulnerable planet, equipped with archaic technology and inhabited by one of the weakest races of the universe. And suddenly, during the past year, alarming news began to come, reporting the conquest of some of our colonies in outer space by natives from this insignificant planet. And such meteoric ascending stunningly only took them a very short lapse of time," the dark tinges of the king's voice evidenced the somber mood in which he was immersed, "You cannot possibly have forgotten that you were as shocked as myself when our attempt to invade that little ball of mud failed; it was unheard in our whole history a defeat of such magnitude. And they did not even counterattack, they did not need the assistance of any weapon."

Unable to remain on his seat for any longer, in a state of increasing anxiety, Bejiita, springing up from his armchair, began to stride back and forth in long treads across the room, his hands behind his back as he loudly observed, "I'm certain you remember the testimonies of the survivors, all of them declared that the accursed planet of hell appeared to be surrounded by an invisible barrier, a kind of shield capable of repelling all other attacks, causing any ship which tried to trespass the atmosphere to explode. How is that possible, Bardock? Where did they acquire such advanced technology?"

Halting his restless pace, Bejiita exhaled a faint sigh before spinning around to advance toward the spot were his counselor was seated, commenting, "And even more incredible were the declarations confirming that those earthlings suddenly seemed to be in the possession of a physical strength that almost rivals ours. It makes no sense; what kind of magic lays underneath this mystery?"

The piercing gaze Bejiita fixed on his counselor oozed as much bitterness as his reflections.

"There is more than our pride at risk here, Bardock, can't you see that?" He asked, hitting the surface of the table with the flat palm of his hand.

"Believe me, Bejiita, I understand and share your preoccupation. But is it that worthy as to capitulate and yield a part of our heritage into vile hands…Do you reckon prudent to bring the enemy into our home and hand her over such amount of power? There must be another way to achieve our purposes, Bejiita; that alliance should be our last resort. I am just asking, begging, to wait; just give me a little more time to meditate and find a better solution."

"Time is a luxury we cannot afford, Bardock. You witnessed how painful it was for me to order the retreat of our navy and to admit defeat. And how bold that woman has become since then, continuously defying our position and authority, provoking and taunting us by conquering a few more of our possessions in outer space. We must stop her before things start getting out of hand."

The king tugged at his beard, pensive, before continuing. "Certainly, letting aside their astounding, apparent immunity, those terrestrials have not developed any extraordinary weapon and their capacity of attack is so limited that, until now, they have just occupied a small number of the weakest worlds. But, tell me Bardock, can you positively assure me that those earthlings have reached the pinnacle of their power? How much time will pass before they become stronger and more powerful than us? How long until we get enslaved or even obliterated by such an inferior race?"

Bardock did not seem able to believe such thing possible and he tilted his head up slightly to stare intently at the sovereign while his factions adopted an air of skepticism. But he stayed mute, nonetheless, not knowing what to reply to not further irritate the king.

"Your attitude amazes me, Bardock. I am resolved to accede to her demands. Yes, you have heard me, so do not give me that look of loathsomeness. If such is the price that must be paid to make us thoroughly unbeatable and to guarantee the survival and supremacy of the saiyan race, then so be it. I am more than willing to sleep with the devil if that enables us to become gods." On which, Bejiita sat back down, scowling his defiance and steadfast determination.

"But it is your own son who will have to share bed with the devil, Bejiita, how can you do this to him, with such coldness…without remorse…? What if our fears turn out to be groundless and those creatures never get to be as strong as we are? All will be in vain…"

"That is not relevant at all, Bardock. What really matters is to know the secret to reach that invulnerability. It could become crucial for our people."

A frown of uneasiness overcame the king's face as he verbalized his fears, however with his habitual tone of majestic authority. "You have knowledge of those reports sent from the last of our occupied worlds. Its inhabitants affirm to have heard rumors referred to beings with immense, almost infinite power who are spreading chaos and destruction across a sector of the universe still unexplored by us. Creatures capable to reduce entire worlds into ashes with a single blow; an entire race of ruthless, sanguinary tyrants who do not care about any other thing than satiating his supreme lust for power. Creatures so cold they could make your heart, your whole soul freeze with just a brief glance…" The last words came out hoarsely while the king curled tightly his fingers around the goblet; severe, abrasive eyes darkening regal factions despite being bathed in the golden light that flooded the room.

Bardock regarded him intently in a commiserative and understanding silence; he could not but feel sympathetic in relation to his monarch's anxiety, yet it did not prevent him from straightforwardly manifesting his doubts.

"You cannot actually give credit to such fantasies, Bejiita. You are perfectly cognizant of the fame they have gained, far and wide, for being one of the most superstitious species of the universe. Moreover, the notion of a race born stronger than us, saiyans, is ludicrous." He snarled the last sentence with patent disdain.

The king, however, shook his head condescendingly, heaving a deep sigh.

"Bardock, Bardock, Bardock," repeated Bejiita softly, but intentionally, with a slightly reproving tone which caused the general to clamp his teeth tightly and to tense his facial muscles into a slight frown. He nonetheless continued listening the monarch's words with invariable deference and respect. "That is your sole and great defect, your exaggerated pride in our race. Certainly, it is an attribute inherent to each and one saiyan. We are terrible chauvinists my friend, and though as a warrior I consider it to be one of our best virtues, as politicians we should let it aside for it is but a blindfold which clouds our intelligence." He stated in an admonitory tone, placing the goblet he still was holding on the table and picking some grapes, while the counselor remained impassible, in the same posture he had adopted since the conversation began.

A serene stillness filled the room until the monarch, ending swallowing the delicious fruits, observed. "Bardock, you are well aware that my sense of honor and pride rivals that of any of our compatriots, but in my condition of sovereign I have the sacred duty to protect our people and defend their interests. And in order to accomplish that, sometimes it is needed to let aside affections, personal preferences and prejudices, and even to make the most humiliating concessions and the most painful sacrifices."

Bejiita could attest, by the look on his counselor's face, that he was maintaining an inner struggle, as if trying to conciliate his most visceral and passionate beliefs and inclinations with the clever reasoning the king had just rendered.

Undoubtedly, one of the factors, if not the main, which made Bardock the ideal person for his job was that both of them shared basically the same opinions and interests. And though the counselor was also able to provide different, refreshing views or to contemplate the same subject from a different angle, for their minds were not totally concurrent, it was vital for the good government of the empire that the king and the adviser to the crown could work together in harmony, without frictions or dissensions of any kind.

And more than ever in this particular case, it was necessary a total agreement from both parties. Bardock needed to understand what was at stake, so the king finally broke the silence to express more clearly his position and motives.

"Think, Bardock, the universe is infinite and we have only seen a minuscule part of it. What challenges, what threats and dangers await for us beyond the stars, my friend? We cannot allow ourselves to become blinded by our fatuous arrogance. It would be a fatal mistake, a folly, to deny the possible existence of beings with superior power and technology capable to destroy our world. We must contemplate that possibility and seek the means to be prepared for any kind of contingence."

"But, Bejiita, what about our beliefs; the prophecy about the legendary warrior born from our people, the invincible supersaiyan who will prevail over all his enemies and whose power will remain unrivaled for all eternity? Do you believe it, Bejiita?"

"Of course I do. I have a blind faith that it will happen, but when Bardock? If our race perishes before he is given the chance to arise, what use will he be of? Look Bardock, we cannot stay passive, without doing anything but waiting to see if rumors, suspicions or legends become real or not, meanwhile letting escape all our chances to triumph. We have the opportunity to get a remedy and be prepared for possible eventualities before they get to occur. Ought we be as stupid as to let it pass, my friend? I do not mind the sacrifices, even though in our entire lifespan all our current fears are finally proved to be vain, we must think of the future, in the next generations. What kind of legacy are we willing to offer to our descendants? Think about it carefully, Bardock, and then tell me, if you can, that I am wrong."

The king paused to savor a sip of the red liquor; a far away look in his eyes causing him to seem elder and tired; but at the same time, the fierce determination branded permanently on his visage attested his unyielding and resilient nature; like that of a powerful tree enduring imperviously the merciless, countless lashes from wild winds in the middle of the storm.

Bardock observed him through new eyes, with renewed and profound respect. It was evident that, lately, the king had been in earnest meditation regarding all these matters, moved by a genuine concern for his people. The damn woman seemed to have caused the effect of a catalyst, a sort of activator instigating a process which could be defined as a "mental rearrangement", making the king to open his mind to new possibilities and reconsider his old and deepest convictions.

And Bardock pondered silently about it all; his analytical and methodic mind, nurtured with all the new arguments the king had posed, working at vertiginous speed, exhaustively, contemplating the subject from all the possible perspectives, weighing the pros and cons, until getting to the conclusion that Bejiita's reasons were fairly consistent.

But there was still some qualms troubling him; and his doubts were so distinctly etched across his face, that the king, awakened from his own reflexive trance and casting inquisitive eyes upon Bardock, had the sudden impulse to ask him the motives.

"Your son, Bejiita. It is his happiness what you are jeopardizing." Bardock replied in such a pleading tone that caused the king to roll his eyes.

"Now you are being overdramatic, Bardock. Arranged marriages had been a frequent ocurrence along the history of he royal family. I myself was obliged to marry someone chosen by my father. It is not a great deal. And my son is very conscious of the responsibilities the title entails.''

"Bejiita, you do not have to committ the same mistakes of your antecesors. I thought we agreed upon that question long ago."

"Enough Bardock!" The king exclaimed warningly, with a furious tone of voice; a dangerous glint flashing in his scorching eyes, with such intense rage intended on his counselor that had he not been the seasoned warrior he actually was, but a more impressionable, thin-skinned target, Bardock would be shivering in dread.

"You're bordering insolence. You may be my most trusted and closest friend but I will not tolerate you to trespass certain boundaries. Bear in mind that you are in the presence of your king and that my word is law. For your wise advice I am grateful, your allegiance is precious to me. But not even you will be consented to questioning my decisions. "

Bardock brusquely rose from his seat to stand upright on his feet and inclined his head, eyes cast down, clenched fists, muscles tensed, as he uttered: "Apologizes, your highness." The contrite accents of his voice not entirely veiling the underlying overtones of resentment; after all, he was as proud as any other saiyan.

Meanwhile, Bejiita, shifted in his seat to a more comfortable position, relaxing the muscles of his body and recovering his regular rate of breathing; all the prior tension and agitation fading out along with his vexation, which was swiftly replaced by the amusement caused at Bardock's antics: The king's counselor was the only living creature capable to irradiate an air of conceited defy whereas performing such a subservient and servile gesture as a bow. It was evident that the man was fuming inwardly despite his arduous endeavors to maintain his façade of imperturbability.

The king prolonged the diversion by averting completely his attention from the stiffle figure to replenish the content of his goblet, deliberately pretending downright indifference to Bardock.

He brought the recipient languidly toward his lips, shaking it slightly and inhaling the delicate aroma. Then he sipped slowly, savoring the fruity flavor, relishing for a long while on the strong and delicious sensation left on his taste buds, before setting the costly recipient on the table.

All so very leisurely, with the purpose to provoke, for once, a visceral reaction on his counselor's side, out of the battlefield (the only situation on which Bardock allowed himself to unleash his primal, passionate -genuinely saiyan- nature) . But to no avail; when the king's eyes fell upon Bardock, he had not even broken a sweat.

With a sigh of mild disappointment, Bejiita shrugged his shoulders off while softening his features into a sympathetic smile.

"Sit down and serve yourself some wine, my friend. It will aid to loosen you up; you seem to need it," the king uttered, eyes shining with mirth, watching as the counselor raised his head to cast a brief glance over him before seating himself again.

"I bet you haven't tried anything like this delicious nectar. Come on, let's make a toast to the success of my birthday celebration."

Bardock hastened to obey the king's command, a little grunt erupting from his chest, which elicited a vigorous laughter from the monarch. Then, both men drank in companionable silence, that only lasted for a brief instant before Bejiita decided to break it.

"This conversation must remain confidential, Bardock. I unreservedly rely on your discretion. You know my son too well; he will likely raise a ruckus when he gets knowledge of the possible plans in store for him. And that would be very inopportune at the present, with all such dignitaries and ambassadors visiting. It is essential to cause them an excellent impression; we don't need to give them any more motives to consider saiyans a simple race of brainless and overly-muscled barbarians……"

A frown settled quarters on Bejiita's brow all of a sudden and his visage glowed a deep scarlet during a fleeting instant for it was a delicate topic for him, but swiftly recomposing himself, he sighed before resuming his previous statement. "After all, we only count with mere conjectures and presumptions. I will solely talk to him when we get confirmation of the woman's true intentions."

Bardock nodded in mute assent, aware that Bejiita was attempting to postpone the inevitable dispute that would ensue and that would only serve to aggravate the ill relation between father and son, (relation that had been severely damaged since the very day the prince was, by Royal Decree, transferred to the diplomatic service and forbidden to participate in military actions.)

A barely audible sigh escaped from regal lips to fade into nothingness, as Bejiita decanted more of the red sweetness into his goblet, with a remarkable pensive expression on his august countenance, which evidenced the conflicting emotions his son provoked in him; that blend of pride and deception impossible to harmonize. Mesmerized, his eyes rested on the content of his chalice, as if seeking either responses or console, while thoughts of his son invaded his mind.

Vegeta, his only offspring and heir; an unique and impossible compendium of the best virtues and the most reprehensible flaws and vices.

The prince had the soul of an intrepid and fierce warrior; the mind of a cunning strategist; a colossal, unrivaled force; unshakeable determination and willpower; and a resilience and capacity to push himself to limits that others would consider impossible to attain. And such persistence had driven him to be one step ahead, surpassing each and any of his fellow saiyans.

But Vegeta was also imbued of such excessive haughtiness, an exacerbated sense of self-importance, alongside with an insensitiveness, a detachment, an incapacity to connect and genuinely become concerned with people, even with his closest relatives. All of this occasioned a disquiet, a pessimistic foreboding in Bejiita, who feared for the fate of his kingdom.

Not that Vegeta was cruel nor malicious, but at his eyes, any kind of affection was synonym of weakness, a waste of time, a hindrance to achieve his highest ambition: To become the legendary supersaiyan. And though such purpose was per se very laudable; it had grown, through the years, into a compulsive obsession. And it so happened that the prince had become unsympathetic, uncaring and inconsiderate to the feelings and necessities of others. And, in Bejiita's opinion, those were not precisely the attributes a commendable and prudent king ought to possess.

Bejiita heaved a deep sigh and looked steadfastly at Bardock and, suddenly feeling the urgent necessity to share his worries concerning his son with his loyal counselor, he finally broke the silence that had descended upon the room since the very moment he had become absorbed in his gloomy musings.

"Bardock, my son is so similar to his grandfather; so stubborn, so hot-blooded and impulsive that I am afraid he might become the same type of sanguinary, greedy tyrant my father was. My worst fear is that all my efforts to inculcate some wisdom in him go to waste and the old days of terror return…I do not know how to make him see that in order to be a good leader is imperative to control his passions and learn temperance and patience…"

It was such an astounding rarity to hear that resigned tone from the ever overly confident monarch, that Bardock was rendered speechless for an instant. But once recovered from his surprise, the general replied:

"Bejiita, believe me, your son is not in the least the ruthless monster your father was. Bear in mind that despite his imperfections, Vegeta is a honorable man." The king had never doubted that, but coming from an objective source, proclaimed with such conviction and firmness, was the kind of comfort he so much needed at that juncture. He leaned his body back on the armchair with a marked expression of relief on his face, as if he had been liberated of an unbearable burden, whilst Bardock continued:

"The prince is still too young and his blood boils with battle-lust. It is not strange in the least; we are, above all, warriors. Fight, challenge, violence, blood…Such are our aliments; what we strive for, what we live for, what we die for. He's got a lot of time ahead to learn. And you are well aware that our race has not precisely been bestowed with the gift of…" A brief pause from the counselor to choose carefully the next word did not go unnoticed by the king, who merely elevated an eyebrow, curious, while Bardock ended the statement: "…patience."

The king chuckled with mirth.

"Why did you censor yourself Bardock? You know very well that I have always valued highly your raw sincerity. Are you getting old? Lost your guts or got your balls removed? Say what you really meant: "Brains!"

"I would not quite say that, Bejiita. Your son does not lack intelligence. It is simply that he has not acquired yet that kind of wisdom that comes with maturity, from experience and thoughtful meditation. In fact I think that he is brilliant when it comes to verbal disputes…" Bardock trailed off, pausing as he noticed the king was shaking his head.

"I am afraid I am the only culprit of his attitude, my friend. With my insistence on instilling in him the pride of what it means to be truly saiyan, branding with fire within his very core a sense of superiority for being the destined ruler of the most glorious race of the universe. I should have taught him first, that becoming a good leader implies to serve and protect his people. And, in addition, I spoiled him rotten, indulging in each and every one of his whims. But I was too young and inexperienced then…" The king stated before exhaling a sigh of remorse.

"And so he is, Bejiita. He will learn…Hopefully, he will have someone at his side wise enough to guide him."

"I cannot help but to have serious doubts, Bardock. Even if he is lucky enough to have such a loyal and proficient counselor like you have been to me; he is too independent and too swollen with pride to listen to anybody but himself…"

"That is not what I meant, Bejiita. He needs to find the perfect companion, someone capable to get close enough; with the proper mate exerting the adequated influence, Vegeta would make an excellent king…" Bardock took care to accentuate each and one of his words purposefully, causing Bejiita to frown.

"Won't you ever get tired of attempting to sabotage that possible marriage, Bardock?" The king folded his arms securely over his chest, his tone of voice as defensive as his pose, as he added, "Not that it will become a hindrance, in any case. You know that my son still will be able to keep his true mate by his side despite that union."

"Something tells me that woman would not allow that."

"What that woman might or not want is irrelevant at all. You know perfectly well that my son will not consent anybody to dictate what decisions to take nor to interfere in the governing of his people. She wants a taste of real power, fine; but she will have to learn what actually implies to become the queen of the saiyan empire; what duties and privileges such title entails. If she harbors the senseless and ludicrous fantasy that she will be able to have any saying on the affairs of the crown, she will get the deception of her life. And I am positively sure that my "gentle" son will be more than eager to put that bitch in her place."

"I would like to have your same confidence, Bejiita…" Trailed off Bardock, with evident discontentment.

The frown of anger on the king's face were dangerously deepening but the beeping sound coming from an inter-communicator prevented further disputes between the two men.

"Your highness, a courier beg permission to deliver an urgent message addressed to General Bardock," came the raspy voice from one of the guards paying vigilance outside the chamber.

"Let him in," was the king's sole reply before shutting the communication. Immediately, the heavy mahogany door swished open and the messenger made his entrance, pausing once he crossed the threshold to bow respectfully before the two men.

"I beg your pardon for daring to interrupt, your majesty, but my orders were to deliver the missive without delay," said he with hesitant tone, looking down at the floor, with his head still bent.

"Fine, proceed!" The king uttered, condescendingly, grabbing again his goblet, without offering a single glance to the soldier, who advanced toward the table to silently hand the message to the royal counselor. After that, he bowed again before retiring himself as quietly as he had entered.

The expression of Bardock became somber as he fixed piercing, yet apprehensive, eyes on the missive. Bewildered, he felt a slight tremor running up his spine. Due to his occupation, he was used to receive hundreds of urgent notes daily; so this was not an exceptional occurrence, but still, he cannot avoid, nor quite understand why all of a sudden a sensation of impending doom had seized him in a tight grip, causing his stomach to lurch and his heart to skip some beats in uneasiness. He could even feel a few beads of cold sweat rolling down his forehead.

Unable to resist the curiosity, he glanced up at the king, pleadingly under knitted eyebrows, as a mute petition of permission. The king, unaware of the state of anguish of his counselor, nodded as his lips curved in a slight smirk.

"Read the damn thing, I need a change of clothes anyway. We don't want this beauty to get ruined, do we?" Asked he, the smirk growing deeper as he stroked the velvety fabric on his left arm.

While the king walked over toward a small alcove situated in one of the corners of the room, Bardock read avidly the piece of paper; his heart pounding erratically and violently inside his aching chest as his mind processed the significance, either, the literal, more immediate, one; as well as the deepest one: The implications, the consequences that would ensue; just a few words, mere lines on a piece of paper, something so apparently insignificant could give an unexpected twist to his life.

"Kakarot…" Came out the brittle whisper from Bardock's suddenly dry throat.

He felt his old scar stinging painfully, like every time he was deeply affected by an overwhelming emotion, and absently brought his hand to his face to scratch the old wound. Meanwhile his eyes ran over the lines once and again, until his vision became blurry and the words began to dance on the paper, fading out from his field of vision to get materialized into his mind, where the phrases got replayed incessantly, tauntingly haunting him, evoking old reminiscences from a past he had strived, so long ago, a whole life, to silence, to bury into oblivion.

Memories of that fateful day on which his son, Kakarot, was sent out of planet on his first purging mission emerged with such force from the deepest recesses of Bardock's psyche, that he found himself reliving those old events as if they were taking place in that precise moment.

And so, right there amidst the warmth of the royal chambers, Bardock shivered, feeling all of a sudden the crisp air of that winter morning biting at the exposed expanses of his flesh.

……………………

Flashback

In those days, under the government of Vejita, one of the most despotic, sanguinary and megalomaniac sovereigns in all the history of the saiyan empire; newborns as well as the rest of the citizens, were considered property of the crown and very few saiyans were bestowed the privilege to raise their offspring. Since the very moment of their birth, children were confined in nurseries for a short interval of time, until they were sent to purge the weakest planets.

It was a cold December day that Bardock had been a father, again. Just few hours after the birth of his youngest son, and by mediation of a comrade soldier, he had the unusual luck to access the nursery and say his goodbyes. And there he was, watching with curiosity, almost enraptured, his miniature replica, a wild spiky haired baby crying at the top of his lungs.

One of the caretakers had commented that the toddler had been wailing with incredible potency for endless hours and, in his opinion, such persistence was doubtless proof that the child would become an amazing warrior. Bardock merely raised an skeptical eyebrow, not sure if the man had been sincere or simply was pitying him, trying to candy-coat the supposedly deceptive fact that the power level of the kid was one of the lowest ever heard of. But Bardock had shrugged it off; experience had proved that some saiyans were late bloomers.

After an undefined lapse, Bardock finally advanced to the tiny crib to take the noisy infant in his arms. Upon sensing such delightful warmth and the soothing, somehow familiar scent surrounding him, little Kakarot, feeling safe and content, ceased in his wail. And when teary eyes met the serious but pleasant visage of his father, a big smile lit up his chubby face and he gurgled and cooed merrily; his little, puffy tail curling compulsively around Bardock's wrist, trying to coax him to prolong and tighten the embrace; as if somehow he felt he had been solely made with the purpose to be protected and comforted by strong, powerful arms.

Bardock, with his proverbial impassibility but overcome by sadness, looked intently at his clinging cub before pulling him against the crock of his neck to whisper: "Make me proud, my son."

……………………..

Bardock, with the inconsolable crying of his son still ringing within his head, stood stiffen, fists tightly clenched, silently cursing, watching as the space-pod containing baby Kakarot took off into the sky; his pupils, stinging with unshed tears, frantically following the ship until it became an indistinct speck in the immensity of the firmament.

He had never been a sentimental man, but that innocent, affectionate look in his son's eyes had remained deeply engraved within his soul and was doing strange things to him, shaking him in the inside and awakening alien emotions. He could not grasp the reason why, though. After all, he already had gone trough the same experience with his first son, Raditz, but he never had connected with him in that same, special and profound way.

An icy, starry night had extended its dark, dotted mantle all over the serene and oblivious land. Bardock's gaze was still fixed on the same point of the horizon when someone had come to inform him that they had lost all signal of his son's ship. Bardock had received stoically the news, expressionless, despite the oppressive pain tearing him apart.

Anxiety had filled the next days, awaiting for the restoration of the contact, trying to track the disappeared spacecraft. But forlorn hopes fled in the wings of time, leaving behind a heart consumed by desolation. All seemed to indicate that Kakarot had died in outer space.

After that, Bardock's career had progressed meteorically. In his vain attempts to mitigate or at least forget his excruciating pain, Bardock always jumped into the battlefield as a desperate man with nothing to lose. Death would be a welcome console at that point of his life but there was no honor in suicide; therefore, he had resorted to volunteer himself for the most dangerous missions. But, surprisingly, all he got was a few scars and a justly gained reputation of intrepid, and soon his superiors took good notice of such unique, vicious and temerarious warrior who feared nothing.

Thus, he achieved what no other third class soldier ever did: to become an elite. Furthermore, personal guard of the heir of the throne, Bejiita, who surprisingly had happened to be totally opposed to his cruel father. The prince was more practical, and his soul was that of a diplomat, the tactician surpassing the warrior in him.

And when the hated king died from apoplexy, (though rumor had it that he had finally gotten poisoned with his own bile), the first decision Bejiita took as crowned king, was to abolish the law concerning the employ of babies in purging missions, as a deference to Bardock, the brand new counselor and general of all the armies.

Meanwhile, with the years Bardock's anguish had receded in favor of a dull sorrow that had become an almost tolerable companion. But a simple piece of paper had sufficed to stir the old agony, emerging to the surface and gnawing at his heart with the same force it did in the past. But also the dead hopes were starting to come to life again and Bardock was not sure whether it was a good or a bad thing.

----------------------------------------

When the king came back from the alcove, now in his habitual clothes, and found Bardock plunged into a state of shock, at first he stood paralyzed in disbelief, the smirk on his face swiftly replaced by an expression of genuine concern. The sight of his counselor was certainly disturbing: Looking blankly ahead, the painful inner struggle Bardock was maintaining was clearly exposed by the agitated contractions of his facial muscles and the way in which one of his hands was tightly clutching the arm of the fauteuil on which he was seated, while the other was compulsively grabbing the now crumpled piece of paper. Bejiita never had seen his counselor so distraught in all his life, so he simply did not know what to do.

After a brief instant of hesitation, finally the king stepped forward, silently, inconspicuous to the man who was immersed in such an excruciating trance, and

gently lay a hand on his shoulder. The subtle touch seemed to be sufficient to draw Bardock's attention, for his head suddenly jolted round and his eyes rested on said hand for a moment; the paper slipping from his now relaxed grip.

"Something wrong?" The king asked, gently.

Turning back to look ahead, with a strange glint in his eyes and an irredable expression on his face, Bardock mumbled tremulously, "My son…" A startling punch on the table followed the unfinished statement.

Bejiita, not wanting to push him with more inquiries for the time being, simply moved to serve him more wine in the hopes that it would alleviate his distress.

"Take this, you seem to need a drink," he uttered, trying to break the tension with a jovial tone.

Bringing avidly the recipient to quivering lips, Bardock swallowed the whole contents in one swift gulp. Only when Bardock's breath became even and the muscles of his face less taut, evidence of a slight attenuation of his anxiety, the king ventured a question.

"May I ask what is that serious matter about?"

Bardock, unable to articulate a word due to the intensity of his emotions, exhaled a shallow sigh, handing the note to the monarch who started reading silently. But the shocking news made him involuntary voice out loud the last part of its content:

"…received a signal from ship 1984, assigned to soldier Kakarot, son of Bardock. …Coordinates differing from the intended destination, pertaining to a small planet, class C. According old records, inhabited but with life-supporting conditions …"

Bejiita could not help the excitation of his voice as he read the rest of the message.

Then, unable to overcome his stupor he gawked, fixing incredulous eyes on the tense man in front of him. Bardock seemed to have regained part of his composure, but the continuous, though almost imperceptible, tremor of his bottom lip betrayed the deep emotion seizing him, and with a vibrant gleam in his eyes he locked gazes with the king while striving to express a petition.

"He…my son, might be…" Bardock stammered, trying to swallow the lump in his throat; but, suffocated by overwhelming feelings, he could not end the sentence.

He closed his eyes tightly, laboriously drawing a mouthful of air into his lungs. There was a very little chance for his son to be alive. But what if he let his hopes arise for nothing? Would he be able to endure once again the anxiety, the angst, the tense wait? Could he survive if his renewed confidence to find his son unharmed and alive crumbled once more? Would he be capable to go through the same hell again?

He was a brave, if not the bravest of the warriors; he could take any physical pain, any attack even the most brutal without even blinking. He did not fear death, but having to deal with so complex emotions was not his forté. Why to open up the old wound again?

The response was evident for the distressed man: For Kakarot's sake. Bardock owed him to reach the end of the path, even if that meant more misery. In that remote planet lied the ultimate response, the fate his son underwent, would finally be unveiled, and if he happened to be dead, at least he could bid him a proper farewell and bring back home what was left of him to rest in peace for all eternity.

Bardock's eyes were two burning flames when, fixing them intently on the king's countenance, asked:

"I beg your permission to go in the search of my son.'' His loud, firm and authoritative tone of voice were more demanding than pleading, and the king knew that it would be useless to oppose such fierce determination. However, true to his practical and reflexive nature, he tried to reason with the exalted general.

"Bardock, it's been over sixteen years since your son disappeared. The probability to find him alive is so scarce, practically null…" The king bluntly trailed off.

"It is not a matter of probabilities, Bejiita, if there is a life implied what only matters is the possibility. We ignored the probabilities of his survival long ago, when we all assumed that his ship exploded or got vaporized in space. Not this time, Bejiita. He made it to that planet and the signal confirms the pod was not destroyed. Though meager, chances are that I can find my lost son."

Bardock paused for split seconds distracted by the nervous tapping of Bejiita's fingers over the table, seeming that the king did not share his optimism but he ignored it; he would get that permission no matter what, and so he continued, "You know how resilient those little pods are; they are made to resist the most tremendous of the impacts with scarce risks for the occupants. If the ship got to land on a planet with optimal conditions, then he is alive, he must…"

By the firmness on Bardock's voice and the fiery, blazing tenacity and resolve rolling off from his very soul in massive waves, it was plainly useless to try and persuade him otherwise. And Bejiita knew that Bardock would go ahead with or without his consent; so he had to conceded, notwithstanding, with a defeated but at the same time sympathetic look in his eyes, for he knew he would do the same in the hypothetic case to find himself in Bardock's place.

"Fine…" He uttered, but at the sudden bow of gratitude from his counselor, Bejiita added, "But, I cannot allow you to go personally. Not at this precise moment with all the foreign delegations about to arrive. You are well aware that all hell will let loose over here without you to smooth things. You are the only one familiar with their petty rivalries and who has studied their customs, protocol and etiquette. I need you here, Bardock."

When the disappointed counselor was about to reply the king cut him, adding with a mischievous smirk creeping across his lips:

"Don't fear, for I will see to assign that mission to the only other person, besides you, that I trust with all my life. Contact my son to inform him of his new assignment. Make him clear that my strict orders are for he to go to the new coordinates right after completing his negotiations in Namek."

When Bardock's features began to contort into a grimace of intermingled upset and annoyance, the king rolled his eyes. It was not frequent to witness such expressivity from his counselor, which emphasized how deeply affected the man was.

"Oh come on Bardock, tell me in honesty if, in your opinion, there is a better candidate for that mission." The king snickered when only a muffled huff came unceremoniously from his counselor's lips. "Do not be so grouchy about it. Let him know that I have bestowed the boy the official status of 'protégé of the crown'. You know the privileges such grade entails; as my representative, Vegeta will be obliged to protect him and get retribution from whoever attempt to inflict your son any harm. You know how tenacious and adamant he can become when it comes to accomplish his duties. He has the compulsive necessity to prove that he is the best at everything, even if he hates it with a passion."

Bardock nodded in mute agreement as the king added, amused, "Now, what are you doing still here? Go and make that call!"

He did not need to be ordered twice to spring from out of his seat; the merry chuckle of the monarch accompanying his hurried tread as he headed outside the royal chambers.

TBC

OMFG, I made of the king a kind of snob metrosexual!! snickers

But hopefully, I depicted Vegeta very in character, taking into account the different circumstances.

Ah the irony to have Vegeta as ambassador in Namek, when in the canon series he decimated the Namekians…isn't it funny? In case someone wonders, nobody knows about the existence of the Namekians dragonballs, Vegeta was sent there because of the curative and other kind of powers of the namekians.

Anyway, next chapter things will start to getting interesting, first meeting of Vegeta and Kakarot O.O


	2. Chapter 2

DISCLAIMER: I don't own DB/Z/GT and don't intend to make money with this.

AN: Thanks a lot to all the people who reviewed chapter one, and for all the alerts/ faves and thanks everybody for reading.

LOST CHILD

CHAPTER TWO: FIRST ENCOUNTER

Vegeta groaned from within the tepid mist that was encircling him, savoring the pleasant sensation of steamy water pounding against sweaty, fatigued limbs and knotted muscles. Definitely, there was nothing better than a hot shower after pushing his body to nearly intolerable limits for countless hours of strenuous training.

In all honesty, he did not mind his daily dose of physical pain- not that he relished on it either, that would be foolish. Nay, pain was only a 'collateral effect' he had learnt to endure and live with. Saiyans craved for action; fighting was their way of life, bloodlust their motivation, power and victory their aspiration. Pain was just an addition, a mere 'occupational hazard'. And, occasionally, a means to get something; but in no way the main aim in itself and absolutely not a source of pleasure. It was just that those aches and cramps, all the wariness after his exercises instilled in him a reassuring sense of accomplishment, making him feel that he was one step- one hit, one bruise, one bump -closer to reach his most cherished goal: Becoming supersaiyan.

Closing his eyes, he massaged the back of his stiffen neck and tilted his head upwards to feel the full impact of the rejuvenating liquid on his face for some seconds. Then he blindly fumbled to reach the automatic dispenser and poured a generous dollop of gel into his cupped palm to dexterously work up a thick lather, meanwhile inhaling deeply the fresh fragrance of lemon that had invaded the shower enclosure completely.

Soapy hands languidly glided over velvety bronzed skin, stroking broad shoulders, finely chiseled chest and toned abs, very leisurely; the hissing and rattling sound of dripping water drowning the sighs of delight elicited by such sensual touches. Deft fingers, slick with lather, slithered downwards more avidly, massaging slender hips, firm, well-rounded buttocks and powerful thighs all the way down to the ankles until the luscious figure of the prince was entirely covered in foam.

The thorough rub down, combined with the soothing effect of the heat and the wonderful scent had the effect of a relaxing balm, deadening his aches and relieving the tension accumulated in his muscles. He ducked under the showerhead, moaning with relief as the torrent of steamy water washed away his tiredness along with the white, slippery froth; all swirling down the drain.

If only his inner turmoil could be, likewise, so easily alleviated! But, alas, his obsessive thoughts and pent-up emotions gave him no respite. He braced his palms against the tiled wall with a blank stare in his downcast eyes as he ruminated over the monumental injustice of his entire situation: He, a prince, the heir of a vast empire, had no control over his own existence; there were always others ordering him around, making choices in his place, deciding his fate.

He mentally laughed with derision at himself and at the cohort of adulators that usually swarmed around him like annoying flies, buzzing out their shallow and insincere praises and compliments in order to win his favor. Poor delusional idiots, blind to the fact that he was but a pitiful puppet, a mere pawn; his life as elusive and insubstantial as the rivulets of water streaming down his body.

Fuming with -in his opinion- righteous indignation, he squirted some shampoo between the palms of his hands and proceeded to lather his scalp. Sinewy fingers scrubbed furiously, desperately at the flattened hair, as if that way his dark musings could be wiped out from his skull. The same brusque treatment was applied to his bristling tail as Vegeta, growling under his breath, cursed his father.

He had always obeyed each of the old man's absurd caprices, swallowing his pride on more occasions than he would like to remember; but he would never ever forgive him for separating him from the military.

His father knew well that fighting was his only passion. All that excitement, the blood boiling with anticipation at the prospect to test his skills and strength against a vicious opponent; that wave of intense pleasure flooding his body, mind and soul during the onslaught; rolling inside, growing gloriously until imploding in a savage climax at the taste of victory. It was the kind of unsurpassable ecstasy that no other experience could provide; or at least, he had never found anything remotely comparable and he doubted he ever would.

Thus, Vegeta was not able to fathom the motives of such decision, or more precisely, he did not find valid his father's reasons. The king had tried to explain to him over and over that he had to strive to become as skilled of a tactician as he already was of a warrior in order to rule his people with utmost efficiency. Bullshit. How could possibly the humiliation of making concessions, yielding and bowing before inferior creatures make of him a good sovereign? The sole idea caused his blood to seethe in his veins with fury and his tail lashed violently splashing some suds of foam all around.

Was his father as dense to fail to see that their people could not be graced with a better leader than the legendary supersaiyan?

A grunt of frustration escaped his throat. Whenever he was in his father's presence it was like standing amidst the most desolate nothingness, confronted to a huge wall blocking his way. Their relationship was a mere succession of misunderstandings, continuing frictions and acrimonious disputes due to the dramatic clash of their personalities. Both of them so equally thick-headed and iron-willed, never able to find a middle ground to smooth over their differences.

He breathed deeply and shook his head vigorously under the shower jet, but that did not make disappear his irritation. And as though it was not enough disgrace to have been banished to the perpetual ennui that was the diplomatic career, he was stuck with two idiots, with the incredible excuse that he needed an entourage in order to inspire awe and enhance the magnificence and dignity of his status as heir to the most powerful empire of the galaxy.

Ha! -Vegeta scorned, emphasizing his derision with a brusque twitch of his dripping tail- As if those two useless buffoons could inspire other than mockery:

The oldest, Nappa, was a mountain of flesh with colossal brute force but not even an infinitesimal particle of brains within his huge bald head; who spent the majority of the time drinking his ass off.

And the other, Raditz, was in Vegeta's opinion, the most irritating of the specimens, vain and superficial, who seemed to have no other interest than grooming his ridiculously massive mane of spiky raven hair and who's only merit was to be the offspring of that insolent Bardock.

His facial features froze in a scowl of contempt at the sudden thought of the Royal Counselor. He punched the wall with his balled fist leaving a dent on the lustrous surface of the white tiles, shuddering at the shimmering hatred lacing through him.

Over the years, Vegeta had witnessed, impotent and with growing alarm and indignation, how Bardock's influence and power had become reinforced to the detriment of his own position. The king, his father, never took in consideration any of the prince's opinions or initiatives, yet he regarded each and every one of Bardock's proposals as if the man was the very impersonation of sheer, unadulterated wisdom.

And is if that was not enough humiliation, now he had been consigned to the ignominious role of mere factotum to the bastard; he, the rightful heir to the throne. Intolerable. Ludicrous. Not only, had he been obliged to drag along with himself Bardock's eldest, who had happened to be nothing but a coward, ( Vegeta hissed, curling his lips in a grimace of disgust as he reminisced how the bulky Saiyan had begged for his life on bended knees when a defenseless Namekian kid had grabbed his tail to play. The mortified prince had maintained a hard struggle to refrain his urge to blast the moron right there into ashes).

And now he had been ordered to go in the pursue of a shadow: Kakarot, the lost son of the counselor. What a waste of his precious time! He was certain that the boy was dead. And in the hypothetic case that, miraculously, Kakarot would have survived, he would be nothing but an additional annoyance; more than likely another idiot to grant his nerves during their trip back home. Moreover, he, a prince, had to act as a baby-sitter to his "protégé", (his damned father had a very hideous sense of humor, Vegeta could swear.)

A sudden bleep instantly dissolved his angered reflections into oblivion. The ship was going to enter the planet atmosphere. Turning off the spray and flaring up to dry himself off, Vegeta stepped out of the shower and, after encasing himself within a navy-blue, long-sleeved spandex uniform and a pair of white boots, he headed to his cabin in order to retrieve his armor, gloves and scouter.

When the spaceship hatch slid open, its occupants, three travelers of fierce appearance, stayed on the threshold for brief instants, squinting at the intense luminosity of the sunlight. Once their vision became adjusted, a quick scan of their surroundings revealed that they had landed on a slightly undulating clearing in the midst of what, by all appearances, seemed a tropical jungle.

The assorted array of greens of the ubiquitous, lush foliage was certainly a refreshing sight for eyes that had only experienced, during the endless journey on transport, the dull and sober metallic hue of the ship. But Vegeta, as per usual, was in too of a foul mood to appreciate the charms of Mother Nature and, flanked by his two guards, he strolled down the disembarking ramp, huffing; the lines of his habitual scowl growing deeper as his heightened senses resented the brutal assault of the overwhelming environment.

The air, saturated with a plethora of penetrating, heady fragrances, punched its way into his defenseless nostrils; the underlying stench of decaying leaves and over-ripe fruits causing his stomach to coil with nausea.

Thick beads of sweat oozed from his every pore at the stinging lash of the sultry heat. And the oppressive humidity of the atmosphere clung to every last inch of his body in an asphyxiating sort of embrace.

Everything in that primeval world was so intense, so sickening and insidiously intrusive that the prince, tightening more than usual his tail around his waist, contorted his features, briefly, in a snarl of disgust, suddenly longing for the roughness of his austere quarters at home.

His two companions, however, stayed apparently unaffected, as if suffering of a transient sort of sensory unawareness. Nappa, still immersed in a hazy state of ethylic intoxication, was too occupied trying to keep his balance and Raditz was too impressed with the information filtered trough his retinas to mind anything else.

"Amazing!" An utterly awestruck Raditz finally broke the silence. "Wow! I think this planet gravity is even weaker than Namek's." He launched himself up and stayed hovering in the air. "I feel so light!" He shouted out enthusiastically, but the others completely ignored him. Nappa had finally stumbled upon his feet, rolling all the way down the ramp to land onto the grassy ground with a heavy and loud thump, and Vegeta took the chance to vent out some of his pent-up frustration by kicking him roughly in the ribcage as a stream of the most atrocious invectives escaped his lips.

Shrugging off, Raditz decided to carry out a surveillance flight over the clearing. They had landed on the same coordinates where Kakarot's spaceship had been pinpointed so it should be somewhere near.

His stomach fluttered as he flew; he was going to meet his baby brother at last and he barely could contain his nervousness. He had not thought much about it before, but now all of a sudden, a myriad of questions assailed him. How would it have been to live by himself, with nobody else around? What kind of person had his sibling grown to be in that solitude? Would he be able to adjust to the new life awaiting for him, among his kind?

A glint of anticipation danced on his eyes and a small smile dwelled his lips, all thoughts dissipating as he glided over a crater on which bottom lay the little pod, almost intact and partially buried under the muddy soil.

"Sire, I found it!" He shouted, stopping in midair.

Vegeta booted the prone form over the ground one last time before walking purposefully toward the overexcited Saiyan. Nappa, either due to the anesthetizing effects of the gargantuan amount of alcohol ingested or simply out of habit, did not appear to be bother in the least after the rude treatment inflicted upon him; he simply picked himself up, staggering clumsily upon wobbling feet, and dusted himself off but made no attempt to approach his companions.

Vegeta waited at the verge of the big hole, with his arms securely crossed over his chest while Raditz crawled into the tiny pod for a closer inspection. One of the panels appeared blackened and with a big hole on its surface exposing multitude of tangled, charred wires. But the control panel seemed to be intact; however, when Raditz proceeded to switch on the central computer in order to monitor the extent of the damage nothing happened.

"It's busted," he exclaimed, pressing frantically all the buttons.

"Really?" Came Vegeta's scornful remark, then he added in an irritated tone, "Idiot! What did you expect? It's evident that the damn thing was defective and that's why it crash-landed on this forsaken planet in the first place. Now, can you tell me something I did not know already." The frown on Vegeta's face had been growing deeper as words burst out abruptly from his lips making Raditz wince and gulp down thickly.

"I…I'll need some time to…uh… find where is the failure and what exactly happened…" He stuttered with vacillation.

"Forget it. That would only be a waste of time. Look for any evidence that the transmitter was manipulated recently. At least that would give us the damn certainty that your brother is alive."

Giving Raditz some time to finish his work, Vegeta switched on his scouter in search for relevant levels of vital energy on the planet. He knew that Kakarot had been born with a combat power of two units. And that fact infuriated him even more. Why to take so much trouble for such a disgraceful saiyan? What would be next? Taking Bardock's pets out for their daily walk?

With a lethal glare, he pushed his angry thoughts to the back of his mind and concentrated instead on the data he was receiving. Exasperatedly inconclusive. Too many signals similar or slightly higher than Kakarot's, more than likely belonging to the local fauna. It would take them an eternity to investigate them all.

"This makes no sense at all." Raditz exclaimed exasperated, disrupting Vegeta's train of thoughts.

"Well?" Vegeta asked impatiently as Raditz floated upwards to land beside him.

"There are signs of a recent explosion right on the communication unit. I haven't got the slightest idea how the signal could even get emitted because the equipment is fried."

Vegeta rubbed his chin thoughtfully for some seconds before venturing a hypothesis.

"That recent explosion…possibly was caused by a shot-circuit…this place seems to have a tropical or semitropical weather. Rainstorms must be frequent. Perhaps, recently a lightning hit the ship and the intensity of the electric discharge sufficed to activate the transmitter before it got burnt."

"So, it wasn't my brother who sent the SOS after all…" Raditz trailed off, the euphoria that had accompanied him since he learned of his possibility to meet Kakarot suddenly dwindling as Vegeta merely shook his head.

"But…that does not prove anything." The tallest of the two snarled stubbornly, in the same fashion as a begrudged kid. Then a thought crossed his mind, that revived his shattered hopes.

"He was alive, he is alive…" Raditz murmured with a nervous laughter.

Vegeta darted him a sideways glance through narrowed eyes. "What are you babbling, fool?"

"My brother…He survived to the crash. There was no trace of him on the ship, if he would have died we would have found his bones in there."

"Not necessarily." Vegeta replied in a neutral and aseptic tone, eyes cold and devoid of any emotion. "For all we know, he could have died or gotten severely injured and the smell of blood and fresh meat could attract a savage beast that dragged him to its lair to feed its cubs."

Refusing to get his hopes crushed again, Raditz uttered weakly, "Or he might be alive."

During the short period that Raditz had been serving under Vegeta, he had learnt one thing; the prince was very meticulous, above and beyond the call of duty, in the fulfillment of his assignments. But he had sounded so heartless with his graphic description of Kakarot's possible fate that Raditz could not help the icy chill that rippled trough his spine, fearing that Vegeta would deem useless to continue the mission.

"But…we can not go home yet, we…we ..I. I mean, sire I beg you…" Vegeta smelled the fear in the air and gave an annoyed stare to the stammering Saiyan.

"Stop being so pathetic, Raditz. I may believe this is an utter waste of MY precious time but it doesn't mean I will give up so easily," he snarled, "I will turn this damned place upside down if needed. If the only remainder of your brother is a fucking speck of dust, be certain that I will find it." His severe tone, through clenched teeth, oozed so much venom for Vegeta suddenly recalled the, in his opinion, insulting arrogance Bardock had displayed when he had informed them of this new mission. But shrugging off his shoulders as if that way he could get rid of his anger, Vegeta turned on his heels, ready to start the search.

"But if the boy is dead, how are we going to find him?" Nappa asked with a groggy voice as he ungracefully loomed close to the other two Saiyans.

A mortified expression crept on Vegeta's features and he chewed onto his bottom lip in an attempt to repress an urgent, murderous impulse to smash that ugly face. Instead, he grabbed a hold of Nappa's collarbone and wrenched him down to spit on his face, scowling viciously. "Are you doubting my capacity, moron?"

But before the bulky Saiyan could give expression to his embarrassment, Vegeta, with his senses always in alert, swiftly shifted his gaze to the top of a nearby tree. An almost imperceptible rustle of leaves and a muffled whisper suddenly catching his attention. He switched on his scouter again and adjusted the coordinates to get the energy lectures. His eyes instantaneously widened and his mouth dropped open slowly in disbelief. The level was over one hundred, still unacceptable for a Saiyan. But it was impossible; in his previous scanning he had not found any signal over three units.

"What happened, Vegeta? You looked as if you've seen a ghost or something." Taunted Nappa. But, luckily for him, the prince was paying no heed and the huge brute turned to stare at Raditz, guffawing stupidly. "A ghost, Kakarot's ghost perhaps, see Raditz, he had found your brother at last."

The hairy Saiyan glared at him; the idiot had the nerve to treat their boss in such a disrespectful way and even to mock him; he was still too drunken or simply had lost his brains, there was no other possible explanation. What surprised him, though, was that Vegeta had not slain him by now.

"This stupid thing is broken." The prince yelled angrily, crushing the device between his fingers before tossing it onto the ground.

Raditz rolled his eyes and looked at Vegeta as if he was some kind of lunatic. That had been beyond bizarre, even for the grouchy prince. But then Vegeta, looking fairly more relaxed, curled his lips into an undecipherable smirk that left the shaggy saiyan even more baffled if possible.

"We don't have to look for him, anyway. He has found us. Look over there." He uttered, pointing at a certain branch several feet high above their heads.

Scarcely had the prince pronounced such words when a figure jumped with feline agility from his lofty perch onto the verdant soil before three sets of mesmerized eyes that seemed incapable to drift apart from the breathtaking apparition; a creature who could only be described as a demigod: A stark naked young man, evidently not yet in his virile plenitude, judging by his boyish features and the soft and sinuous curves still retained by his slender but beautifully chiseled body.

For a fleeting instant, Kakarot stood motionless; large, shining eyes gingerly flickering over each and one of the strangers. Apparently satisfied with the quick scrutiny, the youngster began to step straight forward, initially at a slow, cautious pace; his velvety skin glistening beautifully under the sun; his graceful movements causing the toned, lean muscles of his torso and thighs to ripple sensuously.

It was impossible to remain indifferent to such delicacy, a succulent feast for hungry eyes. And both, Vegeta and Nappa suddenly felt like burning as they cast lewd gazes over the oblivious adolescent. Raditz, on the other hand, had been rendered speechless, trying to assume the fact that he was really facing his brother.

But the trio stayed otherwise in unobtrusive quietness and Kakarot, once overcome the inevitable instinct of self-preservation, strode purposefully; his advance becoming bolder, more resolute with each step ahead. His puffy tail swaying loosely behind him rhythmically, in perceptible contentment, until he finally halted just a few inches away from the nearest of the three men, who happened to be Raditz.

"So we meet at last, my little brother." He uttered once recovered from his stupor, smugly smirking at the boy.

Never having seen or heard a human being other than himself before, Kakarot recoiled two steps backwards, startled as the alien sound drifted to his ears; an expression of bewildered shock plastered on his face. But his adventurous nature and innate curiosity promptly took over, impelling him to edge closer to the tall man. He placed his hands tentatively on the front of Raditz's armor and, flaring his nostrils, proceeded to sniff like a puppy would do to get acquainted with new arrivals.

Kakarot's pupils widened in surprise as a sensation of _déjà vu_ washed over him. There was something strangely familiar and soothing about that scent, something so powerfully evocative, that it sufficed just a mouthful of it to make him relive a long- forgotten memory, finding himself all of a sudden enveloped by a warmth that brought a smile into his eyes.

His tail wagged back and forth uncontrollably behind him as he breathed once and again in the pleasant smell, in a frantic attempt to prolong such delightful sensation for as long as possible. But after a while, the excessive hyperventilation caused him to become lightheaded and he paused, turning his head upwards to look into his brother's eyes.

Taken aback by Kakarot's strange behavior, Raditz had remained still, almost petrified, unable to articulate a single word. And when his little brother gingerly drew a hand up to his face, he just furrowed his brow in bewilderment.

But such response only served to encourage the curious boy, for he became bolder in his tactile inspection and suddenly all were but hands on Raditz's face, tracing brows and eyelids, groping and pinching nose, mouth and ears, stroking cheeks and forehead. All the prodding accompanied by an unintelligible, apish chattering intoned excitedly, with chirping accents, and occasional squeaks of ostensible delight.

"Hey, cut it out, you little scoundrel!" Raditz snarled, irritated. But, undaunted, the clueless adolescent raised his hand to touch the scouter. Kakarot pursed his lips, giving a quizzical look under knitted eyebrows, all the time drumming his fingers on the smooth plastic surface of the strange object.

"That's no toy, don't touch it!" Frowning, Raditz slapped the annoying hand away and Kakarot rose wide, questioning eyes to hold his brother's sharp gaze just for a brief instant as if striving to fathom the meaning of the harsh utterance.

But Kakarot had too short of an attention span and his onyx orbs immediately dropped down and fluttered sideways; the protruding protectors over Raditz's shoulders suddenly becoming the focus of his interest. He grabbed the extremity of one of them and, disregarding the huffs emitted by his brother, yanked at it repeatedly with increasing force, finding quite entertaining the flexibility of the material.

Soon he got tired of that game too and reached out for Raditz's fisted hand, but the tall man brusquely jerked it out of his grip and crossed tightly his arms over his chest, sighing loudly through gritted teeth and twitching; his mortified stare meeting a puzzled one.

Raditz was becoming more an more infuriated, the boy was but a nuisance with his unrelenting prodding and prying. And the chuckles that continually came from his other two companions, who had remained, to his surprise, discreetly apart as amused spectators, were not helping at all. But when Kakarot began to yank at his long spiky tresses, that was the last straw.

"Stop it, idiot! We're here to take you home, not to gambol." Raditz angrily snarled; his face suffused with the crimson of rage as he seized roughly his sibling's wrist, pinning him to the spot with a warning glare. Kakarot gasped, fixing narrowed eyes on the stranger and puckering his lips in what seemed an expression hovering between discomfort and resentment.

"Do not be so rude, Raditz. He seems to have taken a liking of you," Nappa exclaimed, and with a lustful spark in his eyes, he added, "Hey, beauty! Come here, papa has a big present for you right inside his pants, you can come and touch it all you want." The strident voice and the thunderous laughter that followed made the young lad cringe; a hiss of displeasure blew pass swollen rosy lips as large ebony eyes fell over the massive Saiyan for a brief instant before swiftly shifting toward the source of a sudden, enticing voice of dark and profound tones and sensuous cadence. "Pft, it's just natural, he surely have recognized the scent of family, after all he is Saiyajin like us, you buffoon!" As the words slipped from Vegeta's lips, Kakarot let marveled eyes wander languidly, almost reverentlyover the prince's figure.

Massive waves of power and authority rolled off with incredible force from Vegeta and for a brief instant, Kakarot found himself incapable to resist the call. His feet moved by their own volition, but restrained by the tight grip Raditz kept around his wrist, he could only venture a hesitant step toward the man whom each and every fiber of his body felt irremissibly attracted to. All the magic fled, though, the very moment Raditz cupped Kakarot's chin, jerking his face brusquely toward him to have his full and undivided attention.

Since his younger brother made his entrance, Raditz had the vague sensation that something was amiss with the boy's bizarre demeanor and reactions. And his incapacity to figure out exactly what, had been irking him to no end. His lips did not ceased twitching in frustration. But suddenly realization dawned on him slithering a frown across his features.

"Kakarot, tell me, where do you come from? How old are you?" He just shot whatever question came to mind, with increasing ire in his tone. "Come on, say something. Why don't you speak?" The boy merely blinked before eyeing the bulky man with evident perplexity, but no sound left his lips. A blood vessel began throbbing in the corner of Raditz's forehead and he twisted rudely his brother's wrist. When Kakarot yelled furiously a disjointed and nonsensical jabbering, Raditz clenched his teeth with such violence that his jaw hurt.

"What the hell? He cannot speak Saiyago. Why?" Raditz questioned angrily, looking in Vegeta's direction.

Regaining his bearing at the warning raise of eyebrows Vegeta was giving him, Raditz added more softly, "I thought those space-pods were equipped to teach the babies all they needed to know…" He absently relinquished his grip from Kakarot as his words tumbled clumsily through the air.

"What an idiotic question!" Retorted Vegeta sternly, not deigning to glance at him, instead laying his gaze on the boy, who was rubbing his reddened wrist inattentive to his onlookers. "You had just surveyed the damage of the ship, the computer presumably got broken before any information could be conveyed into Kakarot's brain. It's a wonder that the life-supporting system continued functioning until your brother could make it to this planet."

So saying, the prince arched an eyebrow in mild disinterest; but he could not help the shadow of an awkward smile tugging at his lips as he watched, amused, how Kakarot, with a glint of mischief dancing in his eyes and an impish grin settled on his lips reached up to snatch Raditz's scouter. The boy avidly sniffed at the device as he quickly scampered some steps away; to his brother's chagrin who could only bark an exasperated, "What the fuck?"

Paying no mind to the snickers coming from his companions, Raditz shot a withering glare in the direction of his bug of a brother and hastily moved right behind him. But before he could retrieve the device, Kakarot, after running his tongue over its surface to taste it, threw it to the ground with a grimace of disgust on his face.

"Dumbass, that's not food!" Raditz grumbled as he stormed off past the boy.

As soon as that massive cascade of pitch dark hair appeared in his field of vision, Kakarot fell in an hypnotic short of trance. It was, with difference the most fascinating thing he had ever seen. When Raditz bended over in order to scoop up the scouter, he launched himself up abruptly with sufficient momentum to land on all fours and with a strong thud, directly onto his elder brother's back.

The violent impact caused Raditz to yelp as the upper half of his body buckled slightly. He mechanically brought his arm to the sore area, fighting to remove the heavy weight, simultaneously twisting his head to peek over his shoulder. A loud grunt rushed past his lips as his eyes met the little rascal petting the obsidian locks in transfixed ecstasy.

"You fucker! Get out of there!" Raditz exclaimed fuming, endeavoring to regain his feet and reaching behind with both arms to pull his brother off. On which Kakarot, instead of letting himself drop, threw his arms around Raditz's head, covering his brother's eyes and wrapping his legs around the sturdy torso to avoid, that way, losing balance.

Raditz, momentarily deprived of his vision, stumbled rearward awkwardly, clutching at his brother's hands, trying to tear them apart from his eyes while yelling a string of colorful insults.

Kakarot, on the other hand, strived tenaciously to keep the grip on his brother's head but with the force Raditz was employing on crushing the bones of his wrists, the pain soon became too unbearable. With a few grunts, he removed his limbs from Raditz's eyes to grab instead a fistful of locks into both his hands, simultaneously unwrapping his legs from the bulky body. That way he stayed hanging from the long mane causing Raditz's head to abruptly jerk backward, which elicited loud screams of agony from the harassed Saiyan.

Frantically flailing his arms up in the air, Raditz finally was able to propel his head forward and stand back upright with his brother still suspended behind him. Then, Kakarot, flexing his legs, began dangling and swinging on Raditz's long tresses in the same fashion he usually did on the jungle vines, as he gurgled and cackled joyously.

At this point, Nappa had burst out into a fit of hysteric laughter while the prince remained outwardly unperturbed, arms folded steadily over his chest, an inscrutable smirk settled on his lips and what suspiciously resembled a faint gleam of mirth dancing in the depths of his eyes.

"You asshole, stop laughing and get him out of my hair!" Raditz ordered at the bulkiest of his compatriots, while shaking his body spasmodically in a, seemingly futile, attempt to detach the unwelcome burden from his body, but only increasing his agony instead.

Sturdy arms slipped under Kakarot's armpits from behind, firmly encircling the boy's chest; but once said boy became aware of what was happening, he held the thick strands more forcefully and wrapped again his legs around his brother's waist. And then there merged concurrently his angered shrieks with Raditz's painful howls and Nappa's loud volley of blasphemies in a crazed hullabaloo which caused the fauna of the vicinity to flee in furious stampede.

After several minutes of fierce resistance, (for Kakarot had turned out to be stronger than he appeared, and stubborn as hell), the brute force of the giant prevailed and the wild teen could finally be torn apart from his brother. Kakarot was panting agitatedly into Nappa's tight grasp while a disheveled Raditz twitched, drawing uneven breaths into his lungs as his fingers frantically threaded through the rumpled and tangled mane to arrange the chaos created there by his brother.

"Easy, monkey boy." Nappa sneered as Kakarot thrashed about into the giant's arms, shouting out an indignant gibbering and shaking his feet back and forth in the air attempting to kick at his captor. "Mm…taming feisty ones is my favorite sport." Nappa whispered hoarsely; voice made raspy and heavy with lubricity as he pulled Kakarot closer, the boy's back firmly pressed against his torso.

The prince felt queasy all of sudden, not pleased in the least with the newest turn of events. The exchange between the two brothers had been fairly entertaining, Vegeta admitted to himself. Which it was in itself rather strange, considering he had a very low patience threshold and zero tolerance toward foolery. But the glint of amusement swiftly faded out from his pupils for it was not fun anymore, Vegeta decided morosely the very moment Nappa's filthy hands had profaned the boy's skin.

The prince could feel his blood pumping furiously in his temples and a weird knot looping and swelling up in his stomach. However, concealing his slightly agitated condition beneath an unfathomable expression, he stood frozen to the spot, unable to intrude while watching in morbid fascination Kakarot's fruitless attempts to get rid of his molester.

But then Nappa swirled his tongue around the curve of Kakarot's ear and Vegeta noticed, horrified, that he was growling, overcome by a sudden wave of jealousy. Much to his relief, the ruckus around was considerable enough to quickly swallow the low rumble in his throat. But that did not make the situation less disturbing.

Certainly he was physically attracted to Kakarot; the surge of desire had been as predictable as imminent the exact moment his dark hues met the boy's good-looks. No qualms about that. Heck, the day he would not entertain the thought of wild sweaty sex at the sight of a fine piece of ass either he would be rotten in hell or the world would have come to its end, whichever would come first.

What had been unnatural, utterly unexpected and definitively senseless, was that consuming thought that had assaulted him from out of the blue, hammering repeatedly in his head: '_Someone is touching what's rightfully- and only- mine'_. As if he had any claim on the boy.

A frown darkened his features as he shielded himself behind the delusory veil of denial. His response had been provoked by his acute sense of duty, Vegeta mentally affirmed; after all, he had been entitled as Kakarot's protector…Raising a derisive eyebrow, he dismissed the idea as soon as it sprouted up within his mind. Whom was he trying to deceive with such a lame excuse? The overtones of possessiveness contained in his growl had been unmistakable: his reaction had not been a calculated, logic and measured one; but primal, visceral, pure instinct surging right from the guts.

His eyes dropped down to fix a murderous glare onto the soil, as if the verdant sheet beneath his feet were the sole perpetrator of his aggravation. His somber frown deepened as he desperately sought for answers into himself. Perhaps it had just been the hotness of this damned place what had inflamed him in the first place, he concluded.

Had they met under different circumstances, he most likely would not even have spared a single look at the boy…All right, not quite the truth, he conceded skeptically elevating an eyebrow. Such beauty was like a magnet for the eyes. But he almost had the certainty that his response had been exaggerated and magnified because of the suffocating ambiance…Or maybe not?

Shaking the unsettling musings from his head, Vegeta raised his head to glance up. When his eyes landed on Kakarot the pang of jealousy struck again, this time more sharply, wrecking havoc throughout his whole self and he had to resort to every last ounce of self-control in order to refrain himself from grunting and to maintain a neutral expression altogether.

Whilst Vegeta was inwardly engaged in this virtual duel against the green-eyed monster and his inner demons, Kakarot was grappling with a very tangible rival.

Confronted with the realization that his captor was impervious to the unremitting rain of kicks thrown at him, the younger saiyan opted to change tactics. Hence, he turned is head to one side, that way he had better access to one of the giant's upper-arms; and bite into the hardened flesh furiously, like a rabid wolf. So thick was the fuzzy epidermis that teeth proved unable to tear the tissues, yet the intense force of those clamped jaws was harmful enough to make the bulky Saiyan yowl and loosen his grip.

"Fucking mongrel…" Nappa barked, grimacing and shaking the wounded arm.

Kakarot dropped onto the ground erupting in a string of guttural sounds, (in all likelihood, his version of a colorful imprecation), but before he could scurry off, huge hands clutched roughly his supple waist and turned him around. A strangled, shocked yell escaped him as he was drawn back against that immense mountain of steel muscles.

Nappa brought him closer, crushing him against his torso; his overpowering stench immediately surrounded and encased Kakarot more brutally and painfully than his arms did, making him dizzy and sick with nausea. Huffing and wrinkling his nose in disgust, the younger Saiyan thrust his head backward, placing steady flat palms against Nappa's chest; but with their bodies pressed so closely together it became impossible to get the necessary leverage to shove the stinky Saiyan off.

"I don't think so, daddy is going to give the bad, bad little monkey a corrective." So saying, Nappa ran his tongue across his lips and slid his hands down Kakarot's hips to grope that perfect derriere, marring flawless ivory skin with the red imprint left by his fingers. Finally taking hold of the taut globes, Nappa lifted up the boy a little and pulled him roughly into his bulging crotch.

Meanwhile Raditz, totally recomposed from his distressing capillary episode and taking notice of the ordeal his brother was undergoing, immediately leapt forward to confront the overexcited giant.

"Hey, leave him alone!" Raditz shouted out angrily, fists clenched at his sides, as Kakarot, without enough space to other than whining, squirming and occasionally punching at Nappa's torso, unsuccessfully strove to wriggle free. But, quite obviously, all his struggle only helped to arouse even more the over-muscled Saiyan, who was emitting small grunts of pleasure as he grinded his groin against that warm, quivering body; completely deaf to the screeches of both brothers.

But there reached Nappa's ears a distinctive, eerie sound that his instinctual sense of self-protection would not allow him to disregard to: a rumbling and menacing growl erupting from Vegeta's throat. The prince had finally succumbed to his animalistic inclinations and was determined to gain the prey.

Nappa pivoted his head in the general direction where the growl had come from and, as soon as Vegeta appeared in his line of vision, he swallowed thickly, feeling his throat suddenly too dry and jagged. The prince bore an eerie resemblance to a dangerous beast hungry for blood: His eyes blazed with rage, his regal features appeared darkened by a feral expression and all the muscles of his body were tense, ready to attack. But before anybody else could react, Kakarot -albeit still tightly cramped- used his tail as a whipping flog. A sharp 'swoosh' cutting through the air was the only warning Nappa got before that iron-like appendage landed violently on his face.

With a loud howl of pain that echoed throughout the jungle for miles around, Nappa released his prisoner; his right hand raising to rub the scarlet welt on his stinging cheek. Taking advantage of Nappa's distraction, the boy lunged at him with practically immeasurable velocity making sure to aim at the mid-section of his adversary. Kakarot's shoulder smashed violently into Nappa's abdomen and the bulky Saiyan, holding his stomach, collapsed onto the green-matted ground with a resounding thump.

For interminable moments, Nappa lay on his back gaping with incredulity, eyes bulging out of their sockets. It was difficult to assume what had just happened. He, one of the strongest warriors, outsmarted by a lower and weaker opponent, an ignorant kid. The thought reeled over and over within his stunned mind making his blood boil with incipient, yet growing anger. But he stayed petrified until he heard, distantly, the chuckles from Raditz and the sneering accents in Vegeta's voice- The prince had uttered a scornful remark, something like '_It serves you right for letting your guard down' -_And that had sufficed to dissipate his haziness.

Suddenly imbued with purpose, Nappa jolted to a sitting position, slanting a murderous look up at the boy. In return, Kakarot shot him a disdainful glare through narrowed eyes and, with a swaggering air, lashed his tail twice as a warning before turning heels, feeling very proud of himself.

Had not been so infuriated, Nappa would have laughed with gusto at Kakarot's pretension to intimidate a seasoned and ruthless warrior with such naïve braggadocio. But at the moment, the predominant emotion storming through his system was a blind and consuming rage claiming for fair retribution. He had been humiliated, disgraced. And in the presence of the prince of all people. He would ensure that the whelp would pay for such insolence.

"You little weasel…" Nappa mumbled spitefully through gritted teeth as he lifted to one knee. His eyes blazed with contempt, ire and a hint of madness; the throbbing veins on his neck had acquired a dark purple tinge and his curled fists were quivering in anticipation.

But the abrasive voice of the prince froze him in his tracks. "If you touch him I will rip your heart out." The awful threat was expressed with strangely quiet and restrained manners, but at the same time with a fiercely possessive tone and such uncanny coldness that Nappa could envision for a dreadful instant one of the prince's hand sunk into his chest clutching his still throbbing heart and a maniac laughter resounding as ceaseless torrents of blood spurted out from the gash bathing the whole world in crimson.

An icy wind swept up Nappa's spine as he staggered inelegantly upon his feet. Squeezing his eyes shut, he shook his head vigorously in an attempt to jar the gory image from his memory but his rage had not subsided completely and he cast ominous eyes upon Kakarot. If not for Vegeta, he would have pounced on the cheeky runt to have his way with him after beating him into a bloody pulp. But now the brat was there with his back arrogantly turned to him, taunting him and spitting at him his derision with the boisterous movements of his tail. Nappa glowered, mentally cursing the boy, he had no need to see his face to visualize the smug expression Kakarot, he was certain of it, was sporting.

Nappa dug furious nails deep into the callous flesh of his palms, but he remained unaware of it until some droplets of blood began seeping out. He uncurled his fists and, grunting, fixed steel eyes on the crimson spread onto his extended hands. Hatred permeated his whole self, making him forget for just a moment his recent surge of fear and he ventured a step forward in the direction of the boy, but he came to a brusque halt right after sensing a nearly imperceptible tremor under his feet and a gust of shimmering air flickering over his skin.

The phenomenon was, by no means, new to him. Thick beads of cold sweat sprouted on his forehead and his heart raced with trepidation. His head whipped to the right on its own accord and he gasped as his panic-stricken eyes fell upon the regal figure: Vegeta was gathering his energy in order to power up; his vicious stare glowing through his fluctuating aura sent shivers up Nappa's spine. The message was clear: The smaller Saiyan was ready to carry out his threat at the slightest evidence of mutiny.

Gulping the lump in his throat, Nappa retreated few steps back very quietly and lowered his chin in submission while trying to blink his frustration off.

Other, differing, were the emotions raging through Kakarot. When the immense, stunning energy irradiated by Vegeta washed over him, he became breathless, paralyzed, beholding in an enraptured sort of trance the display of crystal blue flashing and sparkling around the majestic silhouette of the prince. Then Vegeta, reverting to his normal level, had looked in his direction. Time seemed to stand still for a fleeting instant when his innocence-filled eyes met the prince's smoldering ebony orbs and a turmoil of foreign, incomprehensive emotions overwhelmed him, making his blood boil, his skin tingle and his tail puff and swing erratically.

A predatory smirk curled Vegeta's lips when the younger Saiyan, as if impelled by an invisible force, began sauntering with unwary treads toward him excitedly.

Overcome by an intense sense of anticipation, Kakarot felt his heart leaping wildly against his ribcage and his breath becoming gradually more agitated with each step ahead. But in his long isolation from other rational beings, he had never experienced, until the present, other emotions than the basics and he was oblivious to what was really transpiring.

Vegeta, on the contrary, was submerged in the very core of blazing awareness, perceiving with striking keenness the subtle tremors of his own body, the fire burning in his loins, every single drop of perspiration trickling down his feverish skin and the wet trail his own tongue was tracing on his lips while his ravenous eyes feasted upon his clueless prey.

As Kakarot closed the diminutive gap between them, Vegeta realized mystified, that he was basking in a myriad of details about the boy he usually would not pay any heed at. Like the way the sunbeams highlighted in golden the boy's silhouette enhancing his enticing curves. The liquid gracefulness of his movements, so smooth and melodious, pure music in motion. The sensuous sway of his supple waist…Vegeta licked his lips once more with lustful intention, his garments suddenly seeming unbearably restraining.

But his fascination was not only limited to the exotic looks of the boy, Vegeta bemusedly admitted; it went beyond physical appearance. After all, Saiyajins were gifted with spectacular bodies and he had lost account of the plethora of pretty boys he had taken. Granted, Kakarot's beauty surpassed all of the others together. But there was something else; something intangible, indescribable; certain quality about his aura that no other Saiyan possessed; the clarity, the pureness it irradiated, so overwhelming that, even deprived from his senses, blind and deaf to the world, Vegeta still would be able to recognize it, washing over his skin in its blazing glory.

All these musings got derailed from Vegeta's mind when the boy halted right in front of him. They both stood motionless, shrouded by a dreamlike quietness for what it seemed an eternity. The shine of Kakarot's soulful eyes grew more vivid as his gaze strived to dive into the fathomless orbs of the prince and one of his hands ventured up to trace shyly, with tremulous fingertips the side of Vegeta's face to finally lay, ever so gently, on the cheek.

Vegeta twitched imperceptibly at the touch, The hand upon his face was slightly tough and calloused, but warm and gentle. He blinked once, it was unusual of him to permit anybody to take such liberties with his persona, but there he was, not only allowing it, moreover, actually enjoying the pleasant sensation. After a short while, he felt that hand trembling faintly and he looked intently into the boy's eyes. Vegeta recognized, sparkling deep within those pupils hesitation, a need of reassurance and a mute plea for guidance.

Kakarot was lost, unsure of what his next move should be but no indication came from the prince, only a smug smirk. At that, the younger Saiyan blinked and, still uncertain, took a last step forward, getting so close that their heated breath mingled sending small shivers across their faces.

A little voice in the back of Vegeta's head whispered in alarm that he should be outraged at that intrusion of his personal space but that young body was the source of an arousing warmth difficult to resist in such close proximity. And besides, Kakarot smelled so damn good; like fresh herbs, berries and a touch of wild flowers, as if the full flora of the jungle had left its imprint on his skin. But what made the mixture terribly enticing, almost irresistible were those underlying, subtle nuances, sweet and sensual, that constituted the genuine and distinctive essence of the boy.

With that inebriating scent teasing so mercilessly his senses it was difficult to think straight, to remember his duty, his oath; he had promised to retrieve Kakarot sound and safe. Vegeta made a considerable effort to fight that sudden and growing itch, that clamor raising from each fiber of his being urging him to pounce on the boy and ravish him for all he was worth. Yet, he remained, at least outwardly, unfazed; his posture rigid, arms steadfastly crossed across his chest and his expression vacant, feigning utter indifference.

At that resolve, the protest of his denied body erupted in the form of an angry grunt which Kakarot mistook as plain rejection, a signal of discouragement. Thus, with downcast gaze, the adolescent removed his hand from the prince's face and shrank one step back; his tail hanging limp behind him despondently, emphasizing his sulking mood.

But Kakarot's scent was becoming more intense with every passing second, overloading Vegeta's senses and awakening something animal inside; a tidal wave of desire surged from his groin and flooded his veins like molten lava making his body ache and burn, and leisurely fogging over his reasoning. His hands rose by their own volition to take a hold of Kakarot's hips to draw him closer. On which, Kakarot emitted a feeble squeal of surprise, but otherwise he seemed fairly pleased and, with eyes humid of excitation, snuggled against Vegeta's body, waiting, longing for something but without having the slightest clue of what could actually be.

For a brief instant, lucidity flickered across Vegeta's skull and he stood motionless frowning and gritting his teeth, infuriated at his weakness, at the way his body was betraying him. He was conscious that he should collect himself back and put an end to all this nonsensical folly. But his determination began to crumble when he sensed the tip of Kakarot's nose brushing along his neck. The boy was inhaling deeply, taking in Vegeta's masculine scent and his faint moans of approval and the warmth of his slow breathing against his fevered skin made blood pump furiously through Vegeta's body, rekindling the flames of his need. The prince blindly thrust his hips forward, slamming his arousal against the inviting body before him. At the contact, a jolt of electricity roared along his spine and he exploded in a feral howl of pleasure.

Kakarot was feeling all cozy and relaxed with his torso nestled against that powerful body and his head buried on the crook of Vegeta's neck. The spicy musk leaking out of the prince's every pore was like a strong wine, as inebriating, making him lightheaded. He began to murmur incoherently against the feverish skin of his partner; tail wagging idly behind him. But suddenly he stiffened, a violent impact against his groin tearing a loud yelp of pain from his throat. A hurt look flashed across those innocent features for a brief instant before Vegeta, with his crotch practically glued to Kakarot's, began to rotate his pelvis in a slow yet rough way.

Kakarot widened surprised eyes, all the air rushing out of his lungs in a blissful gasp as a light spasm shook his body. Since these intruders irrupted into his realm he had experienced an array of sensations completely new to him, not all of them pleasant whatsoever, but this mind-blowing friction was too good to be true. Despite the growing dizziness pervading his wits, he took a second to rummage through his memories trying to find packed there something akin to this feeling, but to no avail. Not even the fresh caress of the cool water over his skin whenever he dove into the river, nor the perfumed breeze sweeping over his body while he wildly flung from tree to tree had ever left him so shaken and at the same time so restless and disconcerted; even the explosion of the sweet and sensual flavor of berries over his taste buds, -until the present the greatest of his pleasures- was dull, insipid in comparison. He promptly pushed these considerations to the back of his head and, moaning, let himself get consumed by searing passion. But in a heartbeat, all motion ceased causing all those exquisite sensations to vanish.

Vegeta drew back his hips a little as his hands abandoned momentarily Kakarot's rump. The younger Saiyan groaned at the loss and snapped open questioning eyes -glowering eyes full of recrimination- his lips puckered in a charming pout. The sight was adorable enough to melt a tender heart, but bad luck, there was none nearby. The prince grunted but otherwise, undeterred, he just offered a wicked smirk in return.

True enough, Vegeta was aching too for more of that maddening contact yet he still retained a little amount of self-control to resist, at least for the time being, the primal urges of his demanding body. At the rate things were going, he knew he would not last much longer and he did not want to cream his pants right there while blindingly thrusting like an uncontrolled animal. He wanted first to cherish and savor the charms of the boy and in order to do so, he removed the gloves from his hands, tossing them onto the ground, and took hold of Kakarot's waist.

Vegeta closed his eyes and sighed, letting his hands languidly roam up and down the curve of the boy's slender hips, loving the feel of the vast smoothness that was Kakarot's skin trembling under his expert touch, relishing in the hotness and moistness he found there.

At the tantalizing caresses, a tiny smile graced Kakarot's flushed visage, and desire burnt again in the depths of his pupils. He rose his hands to place them on the prince's upper arms and, resting his cheekbone on Vegeta's shoulder, snuggled his acquiescent body against the warmness of his counterpart.

The boy was so responsive that Vegeta felt another surge of lust storming through his body and his arousal quivered painfully within its suffocating confines. Releasing a long, raspy breath, he jerked the younger saiyan closer until their hips were crushed into each other; but making an effort to ignore the consuming fire burning fiercely in his loins, he encircled Kakarot's torso in a loose embrace and allowed his eager hands to explore the muscled expanse of the boy's back.

Vegeta traced each curve and crease of toned shoulder blades slowly, ever so slowly with feathery brushes. But soon, encouraged by the soft moans coming from Kakarot, his questing fingers grew more hungry for that satiny skin and his strokes became more intense, even rough, as his hands descended toward Kakarot's lower back, kneading and squeezing unmercifully into hot flesh; his actions rewarded with a few whimpers that sounded strained and almost desperate.

Vegeta marveled at how sensitive Kakarot was. '_He had never been held nor caressed,' _a voice in Vegeta's head countered, '_without even knowing it, he had been starving for any contact with his kind all his life. Too much time deprived…Now you set a feast for him alone and he is not able to restrain himself any longer…' _

His hands sailed along Kakarot's back a few more times, as he fantasized over the response he would earned when matters would start to get more 'serious'. He could barely believe his good luck, the boy was so deliciously vocal. Was Kakarot even conscious of how erotic all his reactions, all those noises were? Obviously not, which inflamed all the more Vegeta's desire. His mouth was almost watering as his mind reeled with exciting images of Kakarot writhing beneath him, emitting all kind of throaty sounds. 'Oh, yes, this is going to be memorable,' he chortled evilly before letting out a feral groan.

Then, moistening his lips, Vegeta paused to take a look at his wanton prey and the sight was beyond satisfying; the reckless abandon painted in rosy tones over the bridge of his perfect nose, the parted lips swollen with need and promise, the half-lidded eyes, unfocused and smoky… whichever sentience left in the boy thus far seemed to be seeping out through the chinks of his tattered will at an alarming rate. Yet, an exasperated whine attested that Kakarot was utterly aware of the suddenly motionless hands laying on his ribs. The prince curled the corner of his mouth into a wild smirk when the younger saiyan, clinging to his shoulders, rubbed his entire body against him, begging, trying to coax him to continue his tormenting onslaught.

With a chuckle, Vegeta obliged; this time trying something new. One of his hands continued stroking the boy's hip while the other glided teasingly over his spine, deft fingers tracing patterns of liquid fire underneath Kakarot's tingling skin. Sounds halfway between mews of pleasure and guttural hisses escaped the younger saiyan's mouth as the tip of an inquisitive tongue flickered over the curve of his neck scarcely touching the skin.

Vegeta had not really intended to taste the younger male, only to see his reaction; but when the intense sugary flavor exploded across his taste buds, he could feel Kakarot's light tremor rippling along his tongue in sync with his own shudder. Only a ghostly sample of the boy and he had already become addicted. His dizziness intensified tenfold and the fire between his legs was now beyond excruciating. But obstinately gripping the sparse shreds of self-control he still retained, Vegeta removed his hand from the boy's hip to place it on his nape, massaging the zone with small circular motions while his other hand continued teasing the spine; blunt nails raking up and down the sensitive line, deliberately avoiding the puffy tail that seemed to have acquired a life of its own and was engaged in a spasmodic sort of dance.

Now that he had Kakarot squirming into his arms and erupting incessantly in small whimpering sounds, Vegeta allowed himself to indulge in his increasing craving for the boy's taste. Burrowing his tongue into Kakarot's neck, he took a mere second to breath deeply in the arousing fragrance the boy exuded before lapping with intensity and yet premeditated indolence the whole length of it, from the firm jaw line to the base and up again, making a small detour across the delicate underside of his chin. Kakarot's flavor was a perfectly harmonized blend of sweet and slightly salty overtones with the barest hint of vanilla; Vegeta moaned softly, he could certainly devour to the last inch of such scrumptious flesh.

So lost Vegeta was in his counterpart's taste and feel, that it took him a while to register the soft meows drifting to his ears. He cackled against Kakarot's skin without pausing in his humid ministrations. Then, with a sinister gleam in his eyes, he swirled his tongue over that sensitive spot right behind Kakarot's ear, relishing in the tingling he noticed there, before moving to graze and nip very gently along the shell of the ear, paying special attention to the tender lobe, which provoked a delightful whine from the writhing boy.

Some instants later, Vegeta let go the abused earlobe and moved his hand from the base of Kakarot's skull to the small of his back, brushing his thumb over the spot, a tad coarsely, in languorous circles. With high-pitched moans, Kakarot threw his head back exposing his throat. It looked so deliciously irresistible, all that alabaster skin covered by a thin sheet of pearly sweat, throbbing with the pulse of life, beseeching to be ravaged that Vegeta could not help the predatory glint that flashed across his eyes. He licked all the way down, looping teasingly around the Adam's apple before traveling downwards, pausing at the hollow just above the sternum where he started to suckle at unrelenting rhythm. Heaving a loud gasp, Kakarot arched his upper body slightly and his fingers curled frantically around Vegeta's shoulders as the man continued tormenting him with perverse mouth and hands.

In just a heartbeat, Vegeta's tongue traced a wet trail along the line of Kakarot's collarbone stopping at the juncture between shoulder and neck. When the prince felt the staccato throbbing of the jugular against the tip of his tongue something primitive stirred deep inside him. Kakarot's blood was pumping right there, underneath a tenuous barrier of tissue. It would be so easy. Just a little puncture and that rich, warm fluid would flow freely within his mouth. Exalted by that thought, a lusty groan that had an animalistic quality to it, rumbled from deep within his chest as he instinctively bared sharp canines and ran his tongue across them with a vicious glint in his pupils, meanwhile wondering if Kakarot's blood tasted as sweet as his skin. That would be perfect, he mentally approved as his teeth tentatively rasped over the creamy surface. The sensation was so incredibly exhilarating; like a lightning coursing through his body. He could feel his need weeping, dampening the front of his pants as his fangs started a frenzy dance over his defenseless prey, scratching mercilessly, leaving angry red trails that glowed dramatically over the satiny pallor of Kakarot's neck.

The scrapes, albeit not deep enough to draw out blood, stung horribly and Kakarot yelped in pain. Vegeta paused when he felt the younger saiyan stiffening in his arms, and furrowed his brow as the new scent rolling off is partner washed over him. It was not really the rancid stench of fear but close, something akin to apprehension or anxiety, but mixed with eager anticipation. Vegeta sighed, mostly in frustration but, almost involuntarily, he tightened his arms around Kakarot, holding him closer; the protective gesture intended to convey a sense of safety to the uneasy teenager.

For a brief lapse of time, Kakarot remained slightly rigid, breathing heavily; but his body soon began to relax at the soothing scent coming from the prince and he did not make any further attempt to withdraw. Yet Vegeta did not make any movement on him until he sensed the younger male yielding into the embrace, wrapping his arms around the prince's neck with a soft moan.

With a devious leer, Vegeta took Kakarot's tail into his hands and began to gently pet across the furry length with long, comforting strokes, always avoiding the extra-sensitive base. He was doing this mostly to distract the boy, either way it served perfectly to his purposes. When a purr type of noise rumbled from Kakarot's throat, Vegeta dove his mouth once more onto the base of the young saiyan's neck this time with the sole intention to suck.

Kakarot's body convulsed in a violent spasm, his sinful bliss breaking through the limpid sky in a savage and piercing scream that left his throat raw as he felt greedy lips suckling and, at the same time, that talented, devilish tongue slurping the tender flesh of the sensitive spot. When the boy mindlessly tilted his head to one side in order to grant better access, at the same time pressing his body deeper into his tormenter, said tormenter erupted in an euphoric sort of grunt that hardly made it through the busy mouth.

The maddening suction seemed to last forever. At first, the intense pleasure inflamed Kakarot to the point of combustion; but as time elapsed, the excessive stimulation on his nerve endings became all too overwhelming and a dull pain leisurely spread through his entire body. Soon his uncontrolled shrieks gave way to hysterical sobs that finally dwindled to ragged intakes of air as exhaustion clawed at him.

There was a moment when Kakarot became partially aware of a light quake lacing through the earth beneath his feet. But he had no time to even get surprised at the oddity of it because a sudden lash of scorching air swept over him, sheathing him in excruciating agony. It burned terribly, as if he had been peeled off his skin an someone poured on his raw flesh a gallon of alcohol to immediately set him on fire. Too unbearable. Yet he could not gather any strength to move or let out a simple whimper, it was as though the insatiable prince was sucking to the last ounce of his energy and even his spirit out of him.

It lasted a mere second, yet to Kakarot seemed like a dreadful eternity; he wobbled as the last stabbing throes racked through him, his trembling legs barely able to support his own weight. He would had collapsed for sure if not for the powerful arms embracing him. But soon, blissful numbness took possession of his body and mind; and though he could still feel the reckless pressure on his neck, the pain had almost completely vanished. With a faint hiss, Kakarot leaned his full weight against the solid physique of the prince while trying to catch his breath.

Vegeta had gotten so carried away that he had not even become aware when his energy started raising and flaring around. It had been totally involuntary but the very moment his mind registered what he was doing, he quickly powered down before he would have a charred Kakarot in his arms. Though the boy had not voiced out loud his pain, Vegeta was certain to have caused him some damage. He did not bother, though, to check the extent of it; instead, he continued to work on the elegant neck with the same intensity as before.

The impulse to sink his fangs into the pulsing vein beneath his lips was becoming increasingly stronger with every passing second. But right when he was about to give into temptation, the prince froze all of a sudden and pulled apart; that nagging feeling at the back of his head, that feeble shade of recognition that had been looming over his consciousness finally trespassed the haziness and all became clear.

Kakarot was in season. His first heat, which marked the passage into adulthood. All submissive males went through it. It was an indication that they were finally mature enough, both mentally and physically, to assume their role as real adults, with all their rights and obligations.

Vegeta, disconcerted, brushed absentmindedly his thumb over the hickey he had left on the alabaster skin. Certainly, the heat explained the motive of his territorial behavior and his own reactions. But how could he have been so dense as to fail to see something so evident sooner?

Saiyans possessed a highly-developed olfactory sense, being able to perceive the slightest of the variations in the emotional state of another individual and any kind of physical alteration by smell alone. Children had a neutral scent that did not provoke other than indifference or in the best of the cases, mostly to their close relatives, a sense of protection. Only the scent of a grown adult beheld that prowess to arose a potential partner. And it was during the first heat when that distinctive odor not only blossomed but reached its highest peak of intensity due to the plenteous amounts of pheromones emitted to lure the alpha males in the vicinity- only familiars were unaffected by it- thus meaning that he was ready and willing to mate. He should had noticed Kakarot's state the very moment the boy's submissive scent swept over him. But all it occurred to himself at the moment was that he had lost his mind.

'_How stupid!' _He inwardly sneered at himself. But on second thought, anybody would have jumped into that same conclusion - that he was insane- considering the facts objectively: He was trying to hump a complete stranger in the presence of two of his subordinates. Though it was close to the truth; he was actually affected by a transitory madness, but the sort of madness caused by his raging hormones. However, the knowledge that his reactions were the consequence of a natural physiologic process did not help at all. He hated to lose control over his own body. If he was weak to the point of being incapable to keep his animal instincts at bay, how could he ever have the necessary strength of mind and self-discipline to get to be a supersaiyan?

Now he was certainly angry and he mentally reproved himself as a deep frown contorted his features. But most of all, he was confused. There had been other boys, plenty of them actually he had deflowered during the rut. But he could not recall to have reacted so wildly, with such intensity before. He had even attempted to kill Nappa, (not that he would have regretted it). But why now? Why with this boy?

In their home planet things were more 'civilized'. Saiyans matured very quickly, it was a question of survival for such a belligerent race; beta males underwent his first heat at the average age of fourteen. (Kakarot was a rare exception because he was, as far as Vegeta knew, about seventeen. Possibly, and very wisely, his body had decided that the total isolation from his race made it unnecessary and senseless until now, and only the sudden intrusion of other Saiyans had triggered the process.) When the moment came, the father would usually invite close relatives and a selected group of friends- only those whom his son felt more affinity or even attraction for -to a sort of party to celebrate the event, but mostly to choose a candidate to guide the adolescent through the rut, or more precisely to deflower the boy.

It was the most practical way to do it. During the first heat, the excessive production of hormones caused restlessness, itchiness, fever and even extreme pain that would only disappear after the mating, once restored the hormone balance; hence, the young male would be in a sex spree, letting anyone who crossed his way to ravish him; so better leave it all in the hands of someone trustworthy.

Then it occurred to Vegeta that had Kakarot been raised on their home planet, it would most likely have been his father, the king the one to defile him. Bardock would not trust his son to anybody else. And, at first, that sole idea inflamed his wrath, causing him to growl in vicious jealousy. But then he began to laugh maniacally at the irony of it all. '_Fuck, you, dear father. It's going to be me, ME, the one to take him' _

He licked his lips with insane euphoria. For once he would have sweet retribution for all the humiliations he had endured over the years. And that was his last coherent thought before finally succumbing to his most primitive side.

In his sex-crazed state, his body yearned for relief; more than that, actually, he had been seeking in all his lovers, without success, that kind of unique, ultimate completion that would make him explode with the force of a supernova, reducing the universe to asses in the ensuing expansive wave. And Kakarot was the one. It was only an intuition but with a heady tang of certainty that had his heart pounding in such a wild way that it would burst out of his ribcage at any moment.

With avid hands he cupped Kakarot's well-round buttocks, mauling and massaging the tender yet firm flesh, before jerking him so impossibly close that both bodies seemed about to merge as one alone. Then he grinded his arousal against the inviting form before him; his grunts blowing through the air coupled with the boy's mewls.

When the older saiyan began shoving his groin into him, Kakarot driven by his state of growing excitation, nuzzled him and instinctively spread his legs wider shifting all his weight onto one leg and lifting the other to curl it around Vegeta's hip and thigh giving, that way, more access to the unremitting thrusts of the prince; moaning and grunting against Vegeta's neck as his tail wafted agitatedly with gratification.

Soon Vegeta set a wild pace, never stopping of bucking and rotating his hips, simultaneously erupting in a string of howls and bark-like sounds more suitable to a ferocious beast than to a rational creature. Meanwhile Kakarot's moans reached half an octave higher every time Vegeta's erection rammed into his crotch.

The prince, encouraged by the wanton response of his partner, delved his fingers into the warm and clammy cleft of Kakarot's butt, separating the taut globes and teasing at the entrance of that tight passage in between with one of his fingers, caressing the contour but without venturing in; the action eliciting a needful meow from the boy. Then he added a second finger, moving them more urgently. After brushing them around the diminutive pucker, he pressed a little with his nails and fingertips not really passing the ring of muscles but enough to stimulate and lit ablaze the nerve-endings on the zone. He accompanied the action with rapid rotations of his pelvis and Kakarot dug his fingers in the prince's shoulders, crying out desperately as violent shudders wrecked his slender frame.

The world had long ago stopped spinning around Kakarot and reality had been reduced to red fire; even he, not flesh and bones anymore, just a scorching flame burning endlessly. And when he thought that it was impossible to reach higher peaks of pleasure, a new wave, more powerful, rippled to his very core, leaving him devastated.

Vegeta had not ceased in his previous ministrations, in fact the prince's wickedly skillful fingers were pressing more forcefully at his intimate opening while his privates were crushed in that delicious way that made him see white lights flashing across his eyelids. And as if was not enough, something furry was tickling the extra-sensitive underside of his testicles and perineum, it was the tip of the prince's tail, stroking increasingly harder all over the place. Kakarot's legs were shaking uncontrollably due to all the overbearing stimulation while a ceaseless whine left his lips along with a trail of saliva. And when, besides all of that, Vegeta's mouth attacked again his jugular, Kakarot arched his back at an impossible angle with a cracking noise. At doing so, the lips that were applying vacuum-like suction got brusquely detached from his neck with a popping sound, accompanied by the hysterical screech of the boy and the bestial groans of the prince.

Placing his free hand on Kakarot's nape, (the other still playing with the delicate tissues at Kakarot's entrance) and bucking his hips frantically back and forth, Vegeta pulled Kakarot's head closer to continue his assault on the neck. Then, trailing the hand on the base of the skull down to Kakarot's tail, Vegeta raked his nails roughly along the appendage, loving the helpless way the boy writhed and yelped under his ministrations.

Kakarot did not know how long the agonizing torture lasted, but when it ended he was reduced to a quivering, sweaty heap of hiccups, snivels, sobs and animal-like yips. Vegeta was so painfully hard that he finally decided to put an end to the courtship, (Saiyans were not precisely famous for their subtleness, not even when it came to woo a sexual partner. Anyway, it was not a practical thing when rampant hormones were running riot within.)

They were ready to move to the next stage but there was too many clothes in the way and his skin yearned for feeling Kakarot's. Vegeta retreated to divested himself from the offending garments, but when he tried to remove the other's hands from around his neck, the boy at last returning to the real world, tilted his head upwards piercing him with eyes oozing disappointment and betrayal. But Kakarot was too tired to struggle and he brought his arms down at his sides, panting for breath; his whole body trembling like a leaf.

A smirk of satisfaction tugged at Vegeta's lips, Kakarot looked so edible when he was like that, vulnerable and helpless, that the wet stain caused by the pre-cum that was leaking out on the front of his pants became twice as big.

With cynical eyes, Vegeta extended his right hand to glide down his fingers faintly from Kakarot's torso to his navel in a sensual yet feather-light touch, pausing there an instant, reveling in the tremor of slick, glistening skin. Kakarot's gaze was all disarray as he looked intently at the prince. With a small snicker, Vegeta drew his hand off Kakarot's body and proceeded to remove his armor; he was tossing the thing up and over his head when a foul stench drifted toward him. He recognized it before it filled his lungs. It reeked like defy and sedition. Bloodlust clamored through his veins and rage veiled his eyes in crimson as the image of Nappa looming behind Kakarot struck his retinas.

After Vegeta threatened to kill him, Nappa had remained in a sullen mood, sitting on the matted ground and mindlessly clutching and pulling up the dense grass as he sulked and brooded over his humiliation, growing increasingly incensed with every passing minute. So engrossed he was in his self- indulgent pity that he stayed unconscious of the little chaos he had created on the soil around him; where just seconds ago flourished an uniform layer of lush green now only were wide patches of dark loam.

At first, and despite his murderous and vengeful thoughts, the oversized saiyan did not dare to disturb the frenzied couple; but the heavier the scent of rut hung in the air the more restless he became. His skin itched severely and he was perspiring profusely, nearly to the bound of dehydration. The sweet fragrance of submissiveness was too alluring to resist; so dislodging all fear from his consciousness and driven by his baser instincts, Nappa approached Kakarot from behind and positioning himself right behind the boy grabbed his hips to lift the delectable ass in the air.

At being manhandled once again by the ugly bully, Kakarot felt an uncontrollable need to run away but he decided to ignore it, twisting instead his head to look over his shoulder. Nappa was licking his lips as his gaze, wet with lubricity, delighted in the splendid roundness of that bum that seemed to beckon him.

Kakarot furrowed his brow, disgust and mortification etched themselves on his features. Just an instant ago he had been feeling so wonderful but now this gross, stinky brute was touching him in a way he did not like at all; it just felt wrong, unlike the other man, the one who smelled so good and whose caresses had lit his body ablaze.

He did not understand why all of this was befalling now, why things were happening so fast. His whole world had been turned upside down and nothing made sense anymore. Since when had life ceased flowing in its predictable and uneventful placidness to hit this spiral, to bring this turmoil that was shaking him to the core, leading him to heights of supreme delight to instantaneously drowning him into the deepest, darkest pitches of despair?

He turned to stare straight ahead, resting his eyes on the compact frame of the shorter man, looking for some comfort or reassurance. But the prince had a rather intimidating appearance; his muscles had bulged out, increasing their size at least twice and the dark flames in his pupils held an emotion completely foreign to him, that infused his spirit with an eerie sort of coldness. That icy sensation spurred up his spine and spread across his chest clawing at his heart. Shivering, Kakarot grumbled under his breath, suddenly wishing the strangers to disappear and things return to normality.

But then he felt a vigorous slap on his right buttock and his eyes become larger with shock. Kakarot cried out loudly; it stung madly and he could feel furious redness expanding over his ass-cheek, but it had been the surprise factor what outraged him the most. He hissed menacingly, struggling to tear away, finally giving into the impulse to escape. But Nappa had sneaked one of his arms around his slander waist and it was difficult to move, let alone scurrying from his grip.

Nappa made use of his free hand to tug at the waistband of his pants, straining to release his weeping erection. At that precise moment, Vegeta's auburn tail bristled out and began to musk.

While the tail glands of submissive males emitted pheromones to allure dominant partners, the tails of alpha males, as was Vegeta's case, released 'aggressive' pheromones to dissuade and defy other alphas. And so Vegeta's message drifted through the breeze, clear, unmistakable: He was ready to kill those who dared to dispute him his prize. When Nappa smelled danger in the air, he loosened his grip on the boy to take a look at his rival, who was growling angrily.

Kakarot, seeing his chance to flee, kicked at his aggressor with all the force he could muster before racing toward a nearby cluster of trees. There he flexed his knees to jump onto a high branch and, taking a hold of a thick and flexible liana vine, he disappeared into the shadowy thickness of the jungle.

All had happened so fast that Vegeta had only time to drop into a fighting stance, with a poisonous gleam in his eyes, bare fangs flashing dangerously under the sun and his tail lashing violently in the air to show his hatred. But Kakarot's hasty departure quelled his pungent urge to kill the obnoxious giant, and his vicious growls and roars dwindled to a gruffly, feeble huff of annoyance and disenchantment.

Grabbing a hold of Nappa's collar he simply uttered a harsh menace. "Don't get in my way, bastard. If you dare to interfere I'll kill you, the boy is mine, understand?"

Nappa gulped down but try as he might he could not bring himself to yield. He was divided by his vows of loyalty and his carnal desire. Kakarot's scent was still hanging heavily in the air, blazing his senses and clouding his reasoning. But Vegeta, conscious of his rival's hesitation, managed to find the less sanguinary of the possible solutions. Before the hunky warrior had any time to react, the prince, with astounding speed and agility flew right behind him, knocking him unconscious with a precise blow on the base of his cranium.

"You …don't stay there like a useless twit!" He scorned to an agape Raditz. "Take him to the ship and wait until our return."

"But sire…" he murmured coyly, as the prince glared daggers at him. He was still stupefied. Due to being family he had remained unaffected to Kakarot's heat, but he had been watching the development in morbid fascination, taking good care of not interfering. The prince was already downright terrifying while in the plenitude of his faculties, so better not to test his boundaries. What dreadful things would Vegeta be capable of doing in such an unstable condition?

But now that Vegeta seemed to have recovered his lucidity, at least partially, Raditz had to do something to help his little brother, even knowing that it was useless.

Had Kakarot been raised in his natal planet, accustomed since his childhood to the presence and scent of other males around him and with the guide of a paternal figure to give him advice and properly prepare him, either his reaction and that of his suitors would have been more moderated and controlled. But owing to the lack of prior contact with other individuals from his species and also to the extreme climatic conditions of the place, the mating could be rather violent. Raditz had heard from his father too many stories about other Saiyans that had lived secluded in remote lands of the planet or in outer space colonies with scarce presence of others of their kind, and the outcome of their rut had not been precisely auspicious. The submissive- weaker- counterpart, usually suffered grave sequels and some even had died during the mating. And with Vegeta involved, Raditz dreaded for his brother's fate. Would he ever have another occasion to see his brother?

For that reason, Raditz tried to overcome the fear Vegeta instilled in him and swallowing thickly the lump in his throat, he pointed. "The king's birthday is due in few days, milord, and we must be back home in time for the celebrations and…" Vegeta cut him in mid sentence, with a mischief smirk tugging at his lips. "Tsk, do not worry , I will be coming…very soon" The bulge in his pants throbbed painfully as to emphasize the vulgar innuendo.

With that, Vegeta took into the air laughing maniacally and flew in the direction the boy had disappeared while Raditz, sweat-dropping, hauled unceremoniously the unconscious oaf over one of his shoulders and headed to the ship as he had been ordered.

TBC


End file.
